BY  JOHN  G.    NEIHARDT 


Poetry 


THE  STRANGER  AT  THE  GATE 
A  BUNDLE  OF  MYRRH 
MAN-SONG 


Fiction 


LIFE'S  LURE 

THE  DAWN-BUILDER 

THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

Miscellaneous 

THE  RIVER  AND  I 


Life's  Lure 

by 

yohn  G.  Neihardt 


MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

MCMXIV 


Copyrighty  igi4 
by  John   G.  Neihardt 


LIFERS    LURE 

PART  I 
I 

Drake  called  for  two  cards,  and  with  an  abortive 
attempt  at  carelessness,  signalled  for  a  whiskey. 
When  he  had  drained  the  glass  at  a  gulp,  the  bar 
and  the  tables  and  the  chairs  and  the  men  danced 
about  less  giddily — finally  ceased  altogether,  and 
the  babble  of  rough  voices  droned  Into  an  unnatural 
silence.  But  now  that  the  outer  world  was  still, 
that  of  the  Inner  consciousness  took  up  the  dizzy 
whirl.  Round  and  round  and  round  spun  the  Inner 
world — the  only  moving,  noisy  thing  In  the  hushed, 
fixed  universe. 

"I've  got  to  stop  myself,"  Drake  thought  daz- 
edly. "How  can  I  ever  win  the  pot  If  I  keep  on 
whirling — whirling — whirling ?''  The  last  word  de- 
veloped a  life  and  a  personality  of  Its  own,  joining 
forces  with  the  devilish  gyration.  He  tried  to  catch 
the  word,  kill  it;  but  its  steadily  increasing  speed 
eluded  him.     "It's  the  last  draw — the  last  hand — 


Qa.rs263 


6  LIFE'S   LURE 

and  I  can't  stop  whirling "     The  word  repro- 
duced itself  endlessly.     "IVe  got  to  take  hold  of 

;gamething*  and  stop " 

*  "Two  black  lights  pierced  the  whirl — and  suddenly 
':I>i!a1ie  fouTid  hirnself  staring  blankly  into  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  dealer  across  the  table.  Drake  was 
grateful  for  them — they  were  so  quiet,  shedding  a 
soft  light,  like  the  eyes  of  a  sad  woman  musing. 

Yet  they  expressed  nothing  clearly — no  passion, 
no  anxiety.  They  were  set  in  a  face  of  dazzling 
whiteness;  not  a  careless  face,  but  a  face  without  a 
mark  of  care.  The  brow  was  broad  and  smooth, 
the  forehead  high  and  well-formed,  the  nose  slightly 
aquiline,  but  the  thin  straight  lips  belied  the  delicate 
sensitiveness  of  the  nostrils.  About  the  high,  well- 
shaped  crown  of  the  head  clustered  a  mass  of  curl- 
ing hair — black  as  the  eyes. 

*'I  believe  it  is  your  bid,  sir,"  said  the  man  with 
the  black  eyes.     "It  has  been  opened  at  fifty." 

Drake  glanced  at  the  jack-pot — a  heap  of  gold 
and  bills.  He  hungered  for  it,  as  a  starving  man 
hungers.  How  much  it  meant  to  him !  It  was  life 
— not  only  for  himself,  but  for  the  little  woman 
back  East.     Would  he  win? 

Hope,  like  a  lamp  flame  about  to  succumb  to  a 
draught  too  strong,  flares  big  before  it  dies.  The 
whirlwind  glory  that  clings  about  the  world's  last 
ditches  seized  Drake.  Of  course  he  would  win! 
Fate  may  torture  a  man — but  in  the  end,  she  is  a 
woman.    Fear  and  anxiety  fled;  the  whirlwind  glory 


LIFE'S   LURE  7 

lifted  him.  He  had  not  yet  looked  at  the  cards  he 
had  drawn — but  why  should  he?  They  were  just 
what  they  were  I  Seeing  the  face  of  Fate  in  no  way 
mitigates  the  doom.  On,  then!  One  terrific 
plunge ! 

"I  raise  it  ten,"  said  Drake.  His  own  voice  was 
strange  to  him,  seeming  to  grow  up  out  of  the 
hushed  spaces  about  him.  He  had  sixty-two  dol- 
lars left.  Sixty  went  to  the  centre,  seemingly  of 
their  own  volition. 

"Raise  It  twenty-five,"  muttered  the  hirsute, 
brutal-faced  man  next  In  order.  The  dealer  quietly 
counted  out  eighty-five  dollars  and  stayed. 

"I  see  you  and  go  a  hundred  better,"  said  the 
next. 

"Come  a  hundred  more,"  said  the  next,  whose 
set  teeth  showed  unpleasantly  behind  a  curled  upper 
lip.     It  was  now  up  to  Drake. 

"I — I — Fm — out,"  he  faltered,  grinning  ner- 
vously.    He  could  feel  his  face  turning  green. 

"Hundred  better,"  growled  the  brutal-faced  man. 
He  drew  a  gun  from  Its  holster  and  placing  It  on 
the  table  before  him,  crouched  over  It,  his  big  trig- 
ger-finger twitching. 

"I  will  stay,"  said  the  dealer  softly,  his  black 
eyes  betraying  no  feeling  In  the  matter. 

Round  and  round  the  table  went  the  betting. 
Drake  sat  stunned,  watching  the  growing  pot  with 
hungry  eyes,  not  yet  conscious  that  he  had  no  longer 
any  interest  In  It.     It  was  a  three-cornered  strug- 


8  LIFE'S   LURE 

gle,  for  the  dealer  contented  himself  with  trailing 
humbly  after  the  others,  not  once  raising  the  bet. 

*'I  call  you !"  cried  the  fifth.  His  eyes  narrowed 
wolfishly,  his  lips  quivered,  his  nostrils  were  dilated. 
The  man  with  the  brutal  face  closed  his  big  gnarled 
fist  on  the  butt  of  his  six-shooter.  Two  more  guns 
appeared  on  the  table.  The  dealer  sat  unarmed. 
After  a  rapid  glance  about  the  table,  he  turned  his 
cards  face  up  and  reached  a  white  taper-fingered 
hand  for  the  pot. 

*'Hold  on  there !"  growled  the  big  man,  planting 
his  elbow  on  the  table,  and  thrusting  the  muzzle  of 
his  six-shooter  close  to  the  winner's  white  face. 

The  crowd  that  had  gathered  about  the  table  to 
witness  the  "big  game,"  fell  back  to  a  safer  distance 
and  waited  breathlessly.  A  deep  silence  fell  upon 
the  room.  The  dealer,  his  white  hand  resting  with- 
out a  tremor  upon  the  stakes,  gazed  unmoved  across 
the  levelled  sights  into  the  murderous  eyes  beyond. 

"You  damned  thief!"  snarled  the  big  man;  "do 
you  think  I  ain't  seen  that  little  trick  before?  Turn 
up  your  cards,  stranger,"  he  added.  Indicating 
Drake  with  a  kick  under  the  table. 

Drake  had  forgotten  his  cards,  staring  hungrily 
at  the  pile  of  cash.  He  obeyed  mechanically.  The 
bystanders  ventured  closer  that  they  might  read  the 
cards. 

The  hands  spread  out  on  the  table  were  the  five 
highest  in  the  deck,  and  the  dealer's  was  the 
highest  I 


LIFE'S   LURE  9 

The  delicate  hand  closed  slowly  and  gently  upon 
the  stakes.  A  strange  conflict  was  going  on — the 
more  tense  for  Its  very  quietness.  With  bated 
breaths  the  bystanders  and  the  players  watched  It. 
The  black  eyes,  fixed  In  a  steady  gaze,  were  no 
longer  expressionless;  but  the  man  who  held  the 
hammer  of  his  weapon  at  half-cock  with  a  rigid  fin- 
ger, saw  In  the  depths  of  them  strange  glooms  and 
gleams  rise  and  fall,  like  the  sinister  struggle  of  a 
midnight  conflagration  under  blanketing  smoke. 
Fists  were  clenched,  teeth  set  In  the  tense  expectancy 
of  the  moment.  Would  the  hammer  never  fall? 
It  seemed  that  hours  passed — and  then — slowly  the 
gnarled  trigger-finger  relaxed,  the  hammer  de- 
scended gently  upon  the  unexploded  cap.  The  eyes 
of  the  big  man  wavered — the  blue  muzzle  of  the 
weapon  fell  lower.  Finally  It  touched  the  table  and 
the  arm  went  limp. 

"By  God!"  muttered  the  big  man,  "I  can't  do  It!" 

The  white  hand  raked  In  the  stakes. 

"The  fortune-tellers,"  remarked  the  winner,  smil- 
ing affably  as  he  pocketed  the  money,  "say  that  I 
shall  not  die  by  a  bullet.  They  tell  me  I  shall  die 
by  water.  Barkeep,  will  you  kindly  set  out  the 
drinks  for  the  house?" 

Drake  got  up  unsteadily.  With  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  stakes,  the  full  realization  of  what  had 
happened  swept  over  him,  like  a  towering  wave  that 
swamps  the  exhausted  swimmer.  The  buzzing 
sound  of  many  voices  and  the  tinkling  of  glasses 


lo  LIFE'S   LURE 

had  begun  again  in  the  bar-room,  but  he  did  not 
hear  them.  Only  an  inner  voice  droned  monoto- 
nously: ^'YouWe  done  for — might  as  well  take  the 
long  jump — it  all  comes  to  that  anyway'' 

He  slouched  into  a  far  corner  of  the  room  and 
dropped  limply  into  a  chair  beside  a  deserted  table, 
upon  which  he  leaned,  burying  his  face  in  his  locked 
arms.  He  had  started  out  to  reconquer  a  world 
temporarily  lost,  and  here  at  Sidney,  in  the  midst 
of  the  enemy's  country,  he  had  two  dollars  with 
which  to  fight — a  pigmy's  sword  against  a  giant 
foe.  Why  did  he  ever  attempt  it?  Why  didn't  he 
stay  back  there  with  her — get  a  job  at  so  much  per 
week — learn  to  economize?  The  question  ran 
brokenly  in  his  brain. 

It  was  the  ancient  lure  of  the  rainbow's  end.  But 
why  not  follow?  One  must  break  one's  heart 
somehow.  Why  not  for  the  visionary  pot  of 
gold? 

The  drowning  man  sees  many  pictures  in  a  flash, 
and  through  Drake's  brain  trooped  the  dead  nights 
and  days — glooming,  glimmering.  For  the  first 
time  in  many  months  the  thought  of  his  father  grew 
up  vividly.  Once  more  he  saw  the  old  man  die — 
but  now  it  was  only  a  vivid  picture  with  no  personal 
meaning.  Once  more  he  felt  the  sense  of  freedom 
— the  new  birth — incident  to  a  young  man's  inher- 
itance of  a  fortune.  Once  more  the  world  was  be- 
fore him,  and  he  stood  above  it  haughtily,  as  on  a 
mountain  top — saw  it  spread  out  invitingly,  wonder- 


LIFE'S   LURE  ii 

ing  at  which  particular  point  he  should  begin  to  de- 
vour It. 

Then  the  vision  changed  capriciously,  and  he  was 
sitting  In  the  pit  of  a  theatre,  staring,  a  little  bored, 
at  the  curtain  which  seemed  to  have  stuck,  never  to 
rise.  It  had  the  picture  of  a  ship  on  It — an  Impos- 
sible painted  ship  sailing  nowhere.  The  place  was 
stuffy,  charged  with  that  subtle  human  effluvium  that 
made  him  yawn. 

Finally  the  curtain  bell  rang.  Drake  heard  It 
very  clearly  now  In  the  hush  of  the  last  hour — like 
a  stroke  of  doom.  The  orchestra  wakened  In  a 
storm  of  sound.  Cymbals  clashed — fiddles  went 
mad.  And  then — the  curtain  went  up.  The  scene 
was  a  tawdry  forest — no  bird  could  have  sung  In 
such  trees.  And  then — a  sudden  dazzling  brilliance 
from  the  wings — a  twinkle  of  mirth-mad  feet — a 
vision  of  delirious  pink  flesh  borne  upon  the  storm 
of  rhythmic  sound!  Then — ^wlth  a  crash — the  music 
stopped.  And  there  before  the  footlights,  balanced 
lightly  upon  tip-toe,  a  sylph-lIke  girl  hovered  in  the 
heavy  hush ! 

The  galleries  thundered. 

Drake  felt  a  shudder  of  hate  for  every  Individual 
In  the  cheering  mob.  Why  was  there  not  a  pro- 
found hush?  This  thing  was  holy  In  Its  beauty. 
The  forest  changed  and  was  a  forest  not  of  this 
world.  The  leaves  rustled  In  the  light  dream-wind. 
Heavy  Intoxicating  odors  clung  In  the  shadows  of 
those  branches,  and  strange,  scarlet  song-birds  made 


12  LIFERS   LURE 

music  in  the  leafy  glooms.  A  little  farther,  just  a 
little  farther  back  in  the  secret  bowers,  gaudy  wild 
flowers  bloomed — sweet  and  poisonous  and  alluring. 
One  could  smell  them — oh,  so  faintly!  And  there 
stood  the  girl — surely  an  immortal — poised  on  tip- 
toe, seeming  to  float  in  the  glare  of  the  footlights. 

One  little  gust  of  music  from  the  hushed  orches- 
tra, and  she  would  float  off  into  the  delirious  mazes 
of  the  dance !  One  could  smell  apple-blossoms, 
somehow!  This  was  May  incarnate.  One  little 
flute  note  down  there — one  thin,  questioning  bird 
note,  O  Clarinet,  and  there  shall  be  June  madness ! 
Green  boughs  shall  burst  into  a  pink  and  white  flame 
of  bloom !  See !  her  warm  glowing  arms  are  lifted 
for  wings!  Quick!  One  gust  of  melody!  She 
smiles  upon  you,  O  Violins !  For  what  can  they  be 
waiting — can  it  be  for  the  music  of  Yesterday? 

A  thin  clear  flute  note — like  the  coming  of  sum- 
mer dawn — then  a  steadily  increasing  wind  of  music, 
blowing  in  from  Eternity,  and  she  floated  off  into 
the  enchanted  forest,  threading  the  mystic  shadows 
like  a  sun-ray — now  perceived  as  a  ravishing  sound 
— now  as  a  haunting  odor — now  as  a  brilliance. 

The  sooty  gloom  of  his  last  hour  swept  through 
Drake's  brain,  and  he  groaned.  Again  the  gloom 
broke  in  rifts  and  lifted.  Once  more  he  met  the 
dancing  girl,  Joy.  Once  more,  with  the  delightful 
egotism  of  youth  he  felt  that  she  had  been  made  for 
him.  The  days  of  their  growing  intimacy  trooped 
through  his  brain — such  days!     And  the  first  kiss 


LIFE'S   LURE  13 

— like  a  great,  mystic  scarlet  rose  bursting  Into 
bloom  at  his  mouth!  And  then — their  marriage — 
the  long  honeymoon  abroad — Venice!  She  had 
loved  Venice.  He  remembered  a  sentence  of  hers : 
'^Venice  Is  really  only  a  state  of  mind — a  capability 
for  exquisite  sensations;  let  us  always  live  there!" 

Drake  lifted  his  head  wearily  and  stared  about 
like  a  stunned  man.  A  gambling  den  In  Sidney, 
Nebraska!  "A  state  of  mind,"  he  muttered. 
"Sidney  Is  also  a  state  of  mind."  He  wondered 
what  made  his  lips  grin.  He  felt  sick  and  prickly 
all  over. 

He  had  wasted  his  inheritance  and  started  for  the 
rainbow's  end  that  he  might  go  back  to  that  state  of 
mind — Venice.  The  rainbow's  end  had  been  dis- 
covered in  the  Black  Hills.  The  papers  had  been 
full  of  It;  and  here  he  was,  cast  up  amid  the  flotsam 
and  jetsam  at  the  lip  of  the  mad  flood,  rolling  in  the 
wake  of  the  ancient  lure. 

Well,  let  it  roll — roll  over  him.  This  was  the 
end.  He  grew  strangely  quiet,  now  that  his  Finish 
stood  before  him  ready  to  bow  him  out.  Just  a 
little  note  to  her,  and  then  he  would  do  It. 

He  burled  his  face  once  more  In  his  arms  and 
began  to  shape  the  note  that  he  would  send.  It  was 
a  tough  job — that  last  little  note.  A  half  hour 
passed,  and  still  It  was  not  quite  plain  to  him  what 
should  be  written. 

At  length  he  was  aroused  by  the  pressure  of  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder.     Raising  his  head,  he  saw  the 


14  LIFE'S   LURE 

face  and  eyes  that  he  knew  only  too  well.  It  was 
the  winner  of  the  pot. 

"Down  to  the  cloth,  brother?"  said  the  man. 

"Down  to  the  cloth,"  echoed  Drake. 

"I  knew  It,"  said  the  man  who  had  won.  "It  was 
written  all  over  your  face,  for — pardon  me — but 
you  are  not  a  good  gambler.  Just  at  present  you 
are  contemplating  suicide.  Don't  do  It.  It  isn't 
well-bred,  you  know.  And  you  are  a  gentlem-an. 
Take  this." 

He  produced  a  liberal  roll  of  bills  from  an  inside 
pocket  and  carelessly  tossed  them  upon  the  table 
before  Drake. 

Pride  dies  last.  With  a  sudden  feeling  of  revolt, 
Drake  pushed  the  bills  from  him. 

"No,  no,"  he  stammered;  "I  lost  everything — but 
I  lost." 

"Oh,  hell!"  laughed  the  other,  lifting  his  shoul- 
ders with  a  little  shrug.  "Should  a  gentleman  re- 
fuse a  convenient  plank  in  case  of  shipwreck?  Go- 
ing to  the  Hills,  aren't  you?  That's  where  I'm 
bound  for  myself,  and  we'll  meet  again.  My  name 
Is  Louis  Devlin." 

He  started  away,  but  turned  back. 

"It's  the  custom,"  he  said,  "to  offer  a  little  advice 
when  one  loans  money  to  a  friend.  Well,  remem- 
ber this:  Always  look  your  Finish  square  In  the 
face!" 

And  with  that  he  hurried  away. 


II 


That  night  in  a  dingy  room  of  the  one-story 
shack  called  'The  Sidney  House,"  Drake  poured 
out  his  heart  on  paper  to  the  little  woman  *'back 
there." 

"Do  not  accuse  me  of  lightness,"  he  wrote,  "if 
my  garrulity  should  at  first  seem  inconsistent  with 
a  keen  sense  of  the  long  miles  that  lie  between  us. 
Two  hours  ago  I  could  have  written  you  from  an 
infinitely  greater  distance;  indeed  I  fully  intended 
to  do  so.  Fate  (bless  her,  for  she  is  a  woman!) 
has  saved  me  from  myself,  and  I  expect  you  to  join 
me  in  worshipping  her,  for  you  really  are  a  pagan 
from  the  pink  tips  of  your  toes  to  that  glorious  hair 
I  love  so  much.  (Don't  pout,  you  dear,  jealous 
little  witch!  Judging  from  classic  tradition,  Fate, 
though  a  woman,  is  what  feminine  judges  would 
term  'a  perfect  frightM) 

"I  am  rather  frivolous,  am  I  not?  Well,  I  have 
just  been  dragged  out  of  Hell  by  the  hair  of  my 
head!  You  know  what  you  said  of  Venice?  Sid- 
ney is  its  antonym!  Hereafter  I  shall  always  pray 
most  devoutly:  *0  Lord,  send  thou  mine  enemy  to 
Sidney!' 

15 


1 6  LIFE'S   LURE 

*'To  elucidate:  Sidney  is  that  state  of  mind  in 
which  one  is  conscious  of  having  only  two  dollars 
in  his  pocket !  It's  the  giddy,  momentary  pause  on 
the  edge  of  things  before  one  takes  the  long  leap  I 
But  this  is  only  mystification,  and  I  see  that  dear 
brow  of  yours  wrinkling.  Quick !  I  kiss  it  smooth 
again!     And  now  to  the  facts. 

"As  I  should  have  foreseen,  I  began  my  journey 
on  a  rather  too  narrow  margin;  and  so  I  landed 
here — at  the  end  of  the  railroad,  if  not  quite  the 
end  of  the  rainbow — with  less  in  my  pocket  than  I 
used  to  spend  on  the  flowers  I  gave  you  in  a  week. 
I  know  you  hate  figures — they  are  so  troublesome 
and  impudent  when  they  are  too  small. 

"Now  this  is  only  the  end  of  the  journey's  first 
stage — the  outfitting  point  for  the  Black  Hills.  Such 
a  place!  It  reminds  me  of  a  stern  stretch  of  sea- 
coast  after  a  terrific  storm — only  the  sea  here  is 
invisible,  and  therefore  more  terrible,  being  subtle. 
The  wreckage  of  the  wide  world  is  tumbled  here. 

"Beyond  the  sky  rim  to  the  north,  the  rainbow's 
end  touches  earth,  and  men  go  mad  when  they  get 
close  to  it.  Madness  is  in  the  air — gold-madness. 
Blood-madness  in  a  mob  Is  terrible  enough,  God 
knows ;  but  in  blood-madness  there  is  bound  to  be  a 
fraternization  of  the  human  atoms  into  one  moving 
mass.  It  Is  not  so  with  the  madness  for  gold.  It 
disintegrates.  The  mass  no  longer  moves  as  a 
whole.  Blood  brings  about  the  human  compound. 
Gold  makes  only  a  human  mixture.     I  find  myself 


LIFE'S   LURE  17 

plunged  into  a  war  of  atoms — the  gloomy  dream  of 
old  Leuclppus  realized  in  terms  of  the  human. 

*'Back  East  where  they  came  from,  these  men 
moved  about  quietly  enough,  no  doubt — the  Joneses 
and  Browns  and  Smiths  of  a  humdrum  world.  But 
here  there  Is  no  Mr.  Jones,  no  Mr.  Smith,  no  Mr. 
Brown;  only  the  goat,  the  tiger,  the  bear,  the  hyena, 
the  horse,  the  sheep!  Bless  us!  How  an  over- 
whelming passion  does  unmask  us  all! 

"In  such  a  world  I  found  myself,  without  means 
of  defence.  I  could  neither  retreat  nor  advance. 
So  I  did  the  one  thing  possible ;  I  flung  my  hopes  on 
a  single  chance.  I  lost.  There  was  nothing  to  do 
but  jump  off. 

"This  will  seem  very  romantic  to  you,  much  like 
a  chapter  In  a  novel,  no  doubt.  It  would  have 
seemed  so  to  me  once.  For  I  have  come  to  know 
that  the  people  of  our  world  have  too  much  the 
operatic  conception  of  life.  We  are  too  prone  to 
hear  the  orchestra  accompanying  the  world's  grief 
— and  then  we  go  out  to  supper. 

"It  would  require  a  hand  capable  of  stabbing  you 
to  attempt  to  put  on  paper  here  just  what  went 
through  my  head  during  the  hour  following  my  loss. 
But,  believe  me,  It  has  never  been  set  to  music,  or 
put  into  any  of  those  exquisite  lines  we  used  to  weep 
over  together — sitting  comfortably  In  a  proscenium 
box. 

"Why  then  am  I  able  to  write  about  It  with  so 
light  a  heart?     Indeed,   I  do  not  know  that  this 


1 8  LIFE'S   LURE 

feeling  is  light-heartedness ;  perhaps  it  is  only  a 
phase  of  vertigo.  But  that  is  foolish,  and  of  course 
I  am  only  joking,  you  precious  goose ! 

"You  know  the  persistent  old  legend  about  the 
Devil  always  appearing  to  a  man  with  a  handsome 
offer  in  some  hour  of  supreme  desire?  I  used  to 
think  it  merely  a  curious  and  more  or  less  interest- 
ing legend — depending  upon  its  artistic  presentation. 
But  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  have  not  met  the  Devil  I 
Don't  jump !  You  must  know  that  the  old  ortho- 
dox devil  is  an  absurd  creation  of  childish  fear — 
just  the  Boogerman  grown  up.  Do  you  know  what 
I  fancy  would  happen  if  one  met  the  Devil  face  to 
face?  One  would  love  him  at  once!  It  is  only 
human. 

"So  don't  meet  him,  my  own!  You  see  your  dot- 
ing demonologist  goes  green  with  jealousy  at  the 
very  thought.  How  I  ramble  on!  To  resume: 
Fancy  a  man  under  medium  height,  faultlessly 
dressed,  clean  and  neat  as  a  pussy  cat,  and  quite  as 
graceful  and  lithe;  manners  of  a  gentleman;  brave 
to  the  last  degree,  or  at  least  without  the  sense  of 
fear.  Give  him  a  dazzlingly  white  face  that  says 
nothing  but  everything;  large,  brilliant,  dark  eyes 
that  you  feel  could  express  everything,  but  will  not ; 
black,  curling  hair;  delicate  tapered  hands.  You 
have  him?  Make  him  a  marvellous  gambler,  capa- 
ble of  stealing  the  last  penny  from  any  number  of 
poor  fellows,  and  quite  as  capable  of  flinging  a  roll 
of  bills  at  the  next  poor  fellow  whom  he  might 


LIFE'S   LURE 


19 


chance  to  meet;  and  all  without  the  least  show  of 
emotion. 

"Well,  I  am  that  next  poor  fellow;  and  this  para- 
gon of  negative  virtues  goes  by  the  name  of  Devlin. 
He  robbed  me  and  three  others  with  consummate 
skill,  and  soon  after  forced  me  to  accept  the  loan  of 
a  comfortable  roll  of  bills !  I  enclose  some  of  them 
herewith,  and  I  fancy  your  sniffing  them  suspiciously 
for  a  trace  of  sulphur!  Do  I  seem  ungrateful? 
Indeed  I  would  have  sacrificed  anything  for  that 
roll  of  bills — anything  but  you,  my  own!  And  of 
course  you  will  see  that  all  this  talk  of  diabolism  Is 
only  playfulness  suggested  by  the  man's  odd  name. 

"To-morrow  I  start  for  Custer  Creek  In  the 
Southern  Hills.  Have  faith — I  shall  win.  Your 
Doge  shall  return  from  exile,  and  we  shall  rebuild 
our  Venice,  O  my  Queen ! — *that  city  never  built, 
and  therefore  built  forever' — how  do  the  lines  go?" 

After  a  restless  night,  Drake  got  up  with  a  heavy 
heart  that  he  could  not  reason  away.  "I  suppose 
it's  only  a  way  of  feeling  a  great  deal  older,"  he 
thought  at  last,  hoping  to  banish  the  feeling  by  ade- 
quately expressing  it  to  himself.  "Or  maybe  It's 
only  the  effect  of  last  night — the  first  look  over  the 
edge.     What  a  nightmare  that  was !" 

He  hurried  on  with  his  clothes.  As  he  thrust 
one  arm  into  the  sleeve,  he  saw  the  roll  of  bills 
bulging  the  inside  pocket,  and  a  sudden  strong  feel- 
ing of  repugnance  seized  him.     Why?     He  tried  to 


20  LIFE'S   LURE 

explain  It  to  himself,  but  could  not.  Was  it  his 
pride,  wounded  at  the  thought  of  receiving  charity? 
Charity!  How  ridiculous!  What  has  a  loan  to 
do  with  charity?  Drake  was  half  angry  with  him- 
self for  the  tentative  thought.  And  then,  there 
couldn't  be  any  question  as  to  his  being  able  to  re- 
pay it.  The  town  was  wild  with  rumors  of  new 
discoveries.  No  doubt  there  was  gold  enough  for 
all  comers. 

But  as  he  ate  his  coarse  breakfast  in  the  "dining 
room"  of  the  Sidney  House,  reeking  with  kitchen 
smells,  along  with  a  brawling  throng  that  jostled 
at  the  long  counter  like  hogs  at  a  trough,  he  pur- 
sued the  elusive  self-explanation;  and  the  more  he 
thought  about  it,  the  clearer  grew  up  in  him  a  con- 
sciousness of  distinct  inferiority  to  the  man  who  had 
given  the  bills  and  with  them,  new  life.  Inferiority, 
Indeed!  It  was  a  new  feeling  for  Drake — unpleas- 
ant and  clinging.  And  as  he  sauntered  down  the 
main  street  of  the  town,  lined  with  a  haphazard, 
mushroom  growth  of  shacks  and  extravagant  sign- 
boards, he  caught  himself  fearing  that  the  white 
face  and  the  black  eyes  might  at  any  moment  emerge 
from  each  knot  of  men  he  saw.  "A  pretty  way  to 
think  of  one  who  has  just  saved  one's  life!" 
thought  he. 

The  self-accusation  made  him  thoroughly  uncom- 
fortable. Nevertheless,  he  wished  not  to  meet  Dev- 
lin again — no,  the  thought  was  unworthy  of  him. 
Rather,  he  wished  not  to  meet  the  man  again  until 


LIFE'S   LURE  21 

he  could  repay  the  loan.  "I  wonder  If  a  curse  al- 
ways goes  with  a  gift?"  he  thought.  "Then 
God  pity  a  man  for  whom  receiving  becomes 
chronic!" 

A  crowd  had  gathered  about  the  door  of  a  com- 
bination saloon  and  gambling  house.  Drake  was 
pushing  his  way  through  the  jam,  when  he  was 
aroused  by  a  whispered  sentence  near  him:  "Look I 
There  goes  one  of  'em  that  was  with  him  when  he 
lost  his  wad!"  Drake  turned  in  the  direction  of 
the  whisper  and  found  himself  confronted  by  a 
dozen  pairs  of  curious  eyes.  Evidently  the  whisper 
alluded  to  him.     Played  with  whom? 

"What's  the  trouble  here?"  asked  Drake. 

"Oh,  just  another  one  stepped  out — lost  his 
wad "  The  man  who  volunteered  the  infor- 
mation in  that  subdued  voice  one  hears  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  dead,  finished  with  a  careless  pantomimic 
representation  of  a  man  putting  a  revolver  to  his 
temple  and  pulling  the  trigger.  "He's  in  there  on 
a  table!" 

Drake  was  seized  with  an  irresistible  impulse  to 
see  how  a  man  would  look  who  had  actually  jumped 
off.  He  shouldered  his  way  into  the  saloon,  pushed 
through  the  crowd,  awed  into  a  hush  by  the  presence 
of  the  mystery.  Over  the  shoulders  of  the  inner 
circle,  he  peered,  tip-toe. 

What  he  saw  sickened  him;  a  dead  face  with  a 
ghastly  open  wound  at  the  temple.  It  was  the  face 
of  the  man  who  had  sat  at  Drake's  left  In  the  game 


22  LIFE'S   LURE 

of  the  night  before — the  man  who  had  "called'*  the 
bet. 

Drake  shuddered,  felt  choked  at  the  sight  of  the 
thing  he  himself  had  almost  become.  He  hurried 
away,  shouldering  impetuously  through  the  crowd. 

When  he  had  reached  the  open  air,  he  was  sud- 
denly confronted  by  the  face  he  had  hoped  to  avoid 
— Devlin's  face,  looking  fresh  and  care-free. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Devlin  pleasantly. 
"Rested  well,  I  trust.  Isn't  it  odd  that  I  should 
have  forgotten  to  ask  your  name  last  night?" 

Drake  gave  his  name  mechanically,  staring  mean- 
while with  a  sense  of  horror  upon  the  face  of  the 
man  who  could  be  so  care-free  with  his  own  victim 
lying  so  near. 

"But — the  first  name?"  pursued  Devlin. 

"Samuel." 

"And  mine  is  Louis.  I  feel  that  we  are  to  be 
good  friends.  Been  taking  in  the  latest  sensation? 
You  agree  with  me,  doubtless,  that  it  isn't  just  what 
one  would  consider  well-bred?" 

Drake  gasped  at  the  easy  audacity  of  the  man. 

"Well-bred!"  Drake  flared  out.  "Great  God  I 
My  heart  aches  for  the  poor  man!" 

"Aches,  rather — pardon  me  for  venturing  to  of- 
fer a  slight  correction — aches  rather  for  the  idea  of 
yourself  lying  there  with  an  ugly  hole  in  your  head  I 
Is  it  not  so?  The  world  moves,  my  friend — and 
those  who  get  under  it  are  crushed — but  the  world 
moves!" 


LIFE'S   LURE  23 

"But  you  saved  me — I  did  not  ask  it  of  you " 


With  a  sudden  access  of  disgust,  Drake  reached 
for  the  roll  of  bills  in  his  pocket. 

*'That  is  quite  a  different  matter,  my  friend.  Oh! 
there  goes  a  man  I  wish  to  speak  to — see  you  again 
at  Custer  Creek!" 

Devlin  hurried  away,  leaving  Drake  staring  In 
bewilderment  after  the  graceful,  retreating  figure 
that  was  soon  lost  In  the  crowd. 

*'It's  not  all  in  the  name,"  he  muttered. 


Ill 


Off  for  Custer  Creek  I 

How  carelessly  the  driver  had  cried  the  words: 
*'Stage  for  Custer  Creek — room  for  one  more!" 

It  was  a  balmy  spring  day.  The  vast  blue  sky 
curved  down  to  the  vast  green  prairie,  and  right 
through  the  midst  of  it  ran  the  yellow  stage  trail, 
glittering  golden  In  the  sun,  and  dissolving  far  to 
the  northward  into  the  curving  blue.  Drake,  sit- 
ting upon  the  top,  lit  a  cigar  and  abandoned  him- 
self to  the  rhythmic  swing  of  the  coach.  How  good 
it  was  to  be  alive!  And  how  foolish  he  had  been 
to  think  of  "jumping  off!" 

The  occasional  flick  of  the  driver's  whip  over  the 
leaders'  backs  punctuated  the  rolling  motion  of  the 
vehicle.  "Why,  it's  like  blank  verse,"  thought 
Drake,  "rolling  through  the  fairy  land  of  a  master's 
mind!"  The  happy  conceit  pleased  him.  Belong- 
ing to  that  class  sometimes  designated  as  the  "well- 
nurtured,"  he  had,  until  recently,  been  unable  to 
conceive  a  thing  of  value  being  divorced  from 
beauty  of  form.  Sidney  had  been  a  rude  jolt  to  his 
fine  sensibilities;  and  in  the  jumble  of  the  momentary 
shock,  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  grinding, 

24 


LIFE'S   LURE  25 

aching  machinery  that  had  been  moving  ceaselessly 
beneath  the  rolling,  uninterrupted  music  of  his  life. 

Sidney  had  been  a  glimpse  Into  the  cosmic  work- 
shop, wherein  Is  wrought  a  rich  tapestry  for  the 
chosen. 

The  latter  conceit  did  not  please  Drake.  He  Im- 
mediately rejected  It  and  fashioned  a  new  one. 
Rather  say  that  to  look  Into  the  mighty  organ,  vi- 
brant with  harmony  under  the  rfiaster-touch,  Is 
neither  a  pleasant  nor  a  wise  thing  to  do  I  One 
hears  only  the  individual  pipes  screeching  and  bel- 
lowing; sees  only  the  gaping  of  valves,  the  thrust 
and  lift  of  unbeautiful  levers.  And  the  glimpse 
breeds  madness.  Wisdom,  then,  is  In  aloofness. 
Safety  is  in  a  proper  perspective.  Moral:  Avoid 
the  Sidneys  of  this  world.  Otherwise,  one  might 
become  that  ugly  thing  lying  so  white  and  quiet  on 
the  table  with  the  hole  in  Its  temple  I 

Drake  shuddered  slightly  at  the  thought,  but 
nevertheless,  he  was  conscious  that  the  memory  was 
not  keeping  pace  with  the  swinging  stride  of  the 
four-horse  team.  And,  after  all,  perhaps  Devlin 
was  right.  Now  that  he  could  think  quietly  about 
it  under  the  perfect  sky,  with  the  green,  clean  ex- 
panse about  him,  Drake  caught  a  growing  glimmer 
of  truth  in  the  words,  *'that  Is  quite  a  different  mat- 
ter.'* Perhaps  the  momentary  unpleasantness  of 
the  man's  remark  had  been  due  to  the  factual  state- 
ment of  a  great  truth;  for  facts  are  brutal — being  a 
part  of  the  organ's  interior. 


26  LIFE'S   LURE 

Well,  he  was  outside  the  organ  again.  The  hide- 
ous shrieking  and  bellowing  of  the  Individual  pipes 
had  once  more  blended  Into  harmonies,  and  the 
music  mounted  steadily  with  the  increasing  distance 
between  him  and  Sidney. 

Custer  Creek! 

In  the  soft  musing  mood  incident  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  spring  day  and  the  vibration  of  the 
coach  and  the  cigar,  the  significance  of  the  name 
passed  easily  into  an  abstraction.  Call  it  Pisgah, 
rather!  An  eminence  of  mind  for  the  chosen,  from 
which  to  anticipate  the  Promised  Land. 

Drake  did  not  bother  himself  now  about  the 
probable  factual  aspect  of  Custer  Creek.  With  the 
easy  assurance  of  an  unpractical  nature,  he  had 
moved  Into  the  furnished  abstract  idea  and  was 
comfortable  there.  Others  might  fail — get  under 
the  world  and  be  crushed;  but  with  him  it  was  "quite 
a  different  matter.''  Doubtless  there  was  an  inscrut- 
able wisdom  behind  it  all,  attending  to  the  mystic 
interrelation  of  the  brutal  facts  and  the  beautiful 
things  of  life — ^but  that  should  be  left  to  the  In- 
scrutable wisdom.  A  rose  blooms  in  the  golden 
sunlight,  and  the  stars  drift  over  it  and  the  moon 
bathes  it  in  silver,  and  all  the  winds  that  blow  are 
for  the  rose.  Underneath,  in  the  unlit,  cheerless 
soil  the  busy  roots  grope  and  struggle  that  the  rose 
may  live  in  beauty.  And  what  inference?  Merely 
that  the  rose  is  indeed  fortunate !  And  had  Sidney 
not  given  him  additional  assurance — if  such  were 


LIFE'S   LURE  27 

needed — that  he,  Samuel  Drake,  was  one  of  the  for- 
tunate? Fate,  doubtless,  would  take  care  of  her 
own. 

He  began  to  turn  over  the  matter  of  the  roll  of 
bills  in  the  light  of  an  act  of  Fate.  It  was  a  reas- 
suring light,  driving  away  the  unbeautiful  shadows 
that  had  at  first  troubled  his  conscience.  After  all, 
had  not  Devlin  been  merely  an  instrument  impelled 
by  the  inscrutable  wisdom? 

The  very  movement  of  the  coach  had  about  it  the 
feel  of  fate,  and  he  gave  himself  over  luxuriously 
to  the  spirit  of  the  Grand  Adventure.  Coaching 
through  a  green  and  blue  immensity  toward  the 
state  of  mind  called  Venice !  What  a  beautiful 
world  it  was  after  the  foolish  nightmare!  The 
empty  pocket  and  the  dead  man  were  only  object  les- 
sons for  the  strengthening  of  faith.  And  then  they 
taught  the  very  valuable  lesson  of  economy,  show- 
ing one  what  one  should  avoid  becoming. 

Bowling  on  toward  Custer  Creek,  Drake  accom- 
plished wonders  with  the  imminent  fortune. 

Custer  Creek  at  last!  Very  much  like  Sidney  in 
general.  Flamboyant  signs,  haphazard  shacks, 
weather-beaten  freight  wagons  scattered  about, 
roughly  clad,  hungry-eyed  men  coming  and  going; 
an  indescribable  fever  in  the  air — about  the  same  as 
at  Sidney. 

The  abstract  idea,  developed  through  several 
days  and  nights  in  the  coach,  took  a  sad  tumble  at 


28  LIFE'S   LURE 

the  touch  of  the  concrete  reality.  Drake  looked 
about  him  wistfully.  Now  that  he  had  reached  the 
goal — what?  How  should  one  proceed  to  reahze 
his  inalienable  right  to  a  fortune? 

He  fancied  himself  approaching  the  nearest  per- 
son with  the  absurd  appeal:  "Sir,  will  you  kindly 
tell  me  where  I  may  find  my  fortune?"  He  smiled 
at  the  childish  thought,  yet  it  left  in  him,  none  the 
less,  an  unpleasant  sense  of  helplessness. 

But,  after  all,  he  assured  himself,  this  was  very 
much  what  one  might  expect  a  placer  camp  to  be. 
He  took  a  stroll  about  the  diggings,  trusting  that 
he  might  be  able  to  adjust  himself  to  the  surround- 
ings. No  doubt  the  process  of  fortune-finding  was 
simple  enough,  once  he  had  looked  into  the  matter. 

Everywhere  men  burrowed  in  open  trenches, 
sluices  gushed,  cradles  rocked,  shovels  rose  and  fell 
— a  dirty,  sloppy,  sordid  business.  And  for  what? 
That  one  might  not  be  dirty  and  sloppy  and  sordid  I 
Everywhere  roots  wishing  to  be  roses ! 

He  stopped  by  the  side  of  a  heap  of  sandy  soil 
and  stone  at  the  edge  of  a  creek,  and  looked  down 
into  a  trench  where  a  young  man  was  lustily  plying  a 
pick. 

"What  luck?"  said  Drake. 

The  young  man  turned  upward  a  very  young  face 
marred  with  very  old  eyes,  and  straightening  the 
kinks  out  of  his  back,  mopped  his  brow  with  a  cal- 
loused hand. 

"None  yet,"  answered  the  young  man;  "but  it's 


LIFE'S   LURE  29 

here — can't  help  being  here."  His  eyes  shone  with 
a  light  of  unnatural  hunger.  "Any  time  it  might 
turn  up — to-morrow  or  the  next  day — next  week  at 
the  latest.  I'm  not  quite  down  to  bed  rock  yet. 
Gold's  in  the  bed  rock " 

''Could  you  help  me  in  locating  a  claim — for  a 
good  consideration?"  Drake  asked. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"It's  an  old  camp,  you  know — the  creek's  staked 
out  miles  back." 

"An  old  camp !" 

"Yes — started  last  fall!"  said  the  young  man,  and 
suddenly  grasping  his  pick  he  began  swinging  it 
lustily  again. 

Drake  strolled  on  up  the  creek  in  pursuit  of  the 
elusive  secret.  "Old!  Started  last  fall  and  he  calls 
it  old!"  mused  Drake.  "And  his  eyes  were  an  old 
man's  eyes!  Does  gold  do  that — gold,  the  mystic 
key  to  Venice?" 

A  grizzled  old  man  was  bent  over  a  pan  at  the 
edge  of  the  creek.  He  was  anxiously  scrutinizing  a 
cluster  of  pebbles  in  the  bottom  of  the  pan  over 
which  he  carefully  sloshed,  the  crystal  water  of  the 
mountain  stream.  Drake  watched  him  for  some 
time  in  silence.  The  man  was  muttering  unintelli- 
gibly, from  time  to  time  flicking  a  pebble  from  the 
pan  with  a  clawlike  hand,  palsied  with  age.  Fi- 
nally every  pebble  had  been  flicked  out,  and  the  old 
man  squinted  long  for  the  unappearing  trace.  At 
length  he  shook  his  head  slowly,  got  up  unsteadily. 


30  LIFE'S   LURE 

and  standing  with  a  rheumatic  stoop,  turned  a  gray, 
empty  mask  upon  Drake. 

**Huntin'  gold,  too,  are  ye?"  he  mumbled.  "Go 
back  where  ye  come  from,  young  man.  Go  back 
an'  git  a  job  an'  be  honest.  If  ye  find  it  ye're 
damned  and  if  ye  don't  ye're  damned.  I  been 
huntin'  it  since  forty-nine,  and  ye  kin  see  me.  Let 
me  see  them  hands  of  your'n." 

Drake,  wishing  to  humor  him,  presented  his 
hands  for  inspection.  After  a  brief  scrutiny,  the 
old  man  muttered  with  a  shake  of  the  head :  "Spend- 
ers, not  gitters — hands  fer  dead  men's  pockets — too 
bad — too  bad."  Mumbhng  to  himself,  he  tottered 
away,  and  fell  to  raking  up  more  gravel. 

Drake  went  to  bed  that  night  with  his  faith  sorely 
shaken;  so  much  so  that  his  sleep  was  feverish  and 
his  dreams  bad.  He  was  feeling  about  in  someone's 
pockets — not  his  own — and  felt  two  silver  dollars. 
When  he  drew  forth  his  hands,  the  two  dollars 
changed  into  a  roll  of  bills.  "Hands  for  dead  men's 
pockets !"  The  words  broke  into  the  dream  out  of 
nowhere,  and  he  suddenly  saw  before  him  the  quiet 
form  and  the  ghastly  face  of  the  man  who  had 
killed  himself !  No — it  was  not  that  man — the  face 
was  his  own — it  had  an  ugly  wound  at  the  temple. 

Drake  awoke  with  a  start.  The  gray  of  morning 
was  in  the  room.  Outside,  a  teamster  cursed  loudly 
and  cracked  his  whip.  The  camp  was  muttering  like 
a  man  who  has  not  slept  for  a  fever. 

Drake  fought  down  his  discouragement,  dressed. 


LIFE'S   LURE  31 

and  went  out.  As  he  passed  down  the  street,  he 
caught  himself  looking  about  eagerly  for  Louis 
Devlin.  Had  not  Devlin  spoken  of  coming  to  Cus- 
ter Creek? 

Drake  caught  himself  up  with  a  twinge  of  shame. 
**I  must  shake  this  off,"  he  thought.  "I  must  be  In- 
dependent.    Other  men  find  gold — why  not  I  ?" 

All  day  he  roamed  about  the  diggings,  hoping  to 
discover,  somehow,  the  elusive  secret.  Everywhere 
he  was  hurled  rudely  back  upon  his  own  resources. 
"Gold  is  where  you  find  it!"     They  all  said  that. 

Everywhere  he  was  reminded  of  his  simile  of  the 
organ's  interior.  It  seemed  somehow  that  one's 
only  safety  lay  In  being  one  of  the  unbeautiful  lev- 
ers, or  gaping  valves,  making  one's  own  Individual 
screech  or  bellow,  as  the  case  might  be ! 

He  went  to  bed  that  night  with  an  heroic  resolve 
to  launch  himself  Into  the  sordid  business  the  very 
next  day.  But  In  the  morning  his  first  thought  was 
of  Devlin.  Not  that  he  wished  to  lean  on  another 
— he  assured  himself  that  this  was  not  true.  Devlin 
would  doubtless  be  able  to  set  matters  right  with  a 
word — some  keen,  flashing  word  that  would  pierce 
to  the  heart  of  things  as  they  were.  There  was  cer- 
tainly something  capable  and  direct  about  the  man. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  joyful  face  that  he  met 
Devlin  coming  out  of  a  gambling  den  after  a  night 
at  the  table. 

"How's  the  luck,  Sam?"  asked  Devlin. 

"None  at  all  yet,"  Drake  answered. 


32  LIFE'S   LURE 

"Good!''  said  Devlin.  "Then  you'll  go  north 
with  me — place  they  call  Bear  Gulch  up  in  the  Nig- 
ger Hill  region — a  hell-roaring  camp,  I'm  told! 
They're  picking  up  the  nuggets  right  out  of  the  grass 
roots  as  big  as  your  fist!" 

And  Drake,  feeling  all  the  unpleasant  load  of 
Custer  Creek  slipping  away  from  him,  agreed. 
Surely  Fate  does  take  care  of  her  own,  he  thought. 


IV 


A  week  later,  the  stage  running  between  Dead- 
wood  and  Bear  Gulch  was  rolling  along  the  stony 
trail  that  wound  down  Spearfish  Canyon.  Drake 
and  Devlin  sitting  together  on  the  top,  had  been 
discussing  the  extraordinary  wild  beauty  of  the  can- 
yon walls  that  soared  a  thousand  feet  above  them, 
now  precipitous  masses  of  grotesque  age-carved 
rock,  now  soft  pine-clad  slopes  rising  steeply  to  the 
sky — ''like  mountains  of  green  velvet,"  Drake  had 
said. 

An  impetuous  stream  ran  near  the  trail,  droning 
musically  in  its  shallows,  booming  in  its  rapids.  The 
scenery  and  the  sound  of  the  torrent  aroused  in 
Drake  memories  of  the  Alps;  and  from  thence  his 
waking  dreams  leaped  lightly  back  to  the  old  easy 
life,  where  there  were  no  gaping  valves,  no  unsightly 
levers — only  the  vague  consciousness  of  an  exhaust- 
less  master  playing  somewhere.  From  memory  to 
memory  his  waking  dreams  leaped,  coming  at  last, 
shudderingly,  to  the  loss  of  the  fortune,  and  hurry- 
ing on  to  the  terrible  hour  at  Sidney.  But  through 
the  stifling  gloom  of  that  memory  burst  a  bright, 
steadfast  star — the  thought  of  Louis  Devlin. 

It  seemed  odd  to  Drake  now  that  he  had  ever  felt 
33 


34  LIFE'S   LURE 

repugnance  for  the  gift  and,  consequently,  for  the 
giver.  During  the  week's  trip  up  from  Custer 
Creek,  all  lingering  qualms  of  conscience  had  died 
out  with  the  rapid  growth  of  friendship.  More  and 
more  he  had  come  to  hang  upon  the  words  of  his 
companion,  and  Devlin  had  uncovered  more  and 
more  the  gentler  side  of  his  nature. 

The  gloomy  forebodings  of  Custer  Creek  had 
vanished  now  that  he  was  within  touch  of  his  friend. 
How  much  he  owed  to  Devlin !  His  eyes  moistened 
at  the  thought. 

The  horses,  taking  a  steep  grade,  slowed  down 
to  a  walk  and  there  was  silence,  save  for  the  muffled 
moaning  of  the  stream,  now  dropped  below  the 
trail. 

"Louis,"  said  Drake,  pursuing  his  thoughts  In 
speech;  "do  you  know,  I  have  often  wondered  why 
you  took  me  up  at  Sidney.  You  had  never  seen  me 
before.     I  was  nothing  to  you." 

"Simple  enough,  Sam,"  replied  Devlin.  "Mine 
Is  a  lonesome  business.  I  wanted  a  friend.  Hav- 
ing the  unmistakable  marks  of  a  gentleman,  I  chose 
you;  and  your  circumstances  at  the  time  aided  me. 
The  others  hadn't  the  qualifications.  The  motive 
was  sufficiently  selfish,  no  doubt,  as  motives  are  apt 
to  be  If  you  take  the  trouble  to  analyze  them." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  unfair  to  yourself,"  Drake 
replied.  "Selfishness  can  never  explain  to  me  such 
an  act,  with  all  It  meant  to  me.  And,  at  first,  I  con- 
fess that  I  was  ungrateful  In  that  I  felt  repugnance 


LIFE'S   LURE  35 

at  the  thought  of  being  Indebted  to  anyone — not 
only  for  funds,  but  for  life  Itself.  It  was  my  first 
experience  of  the  kind." 

Devlin's  eyes  were  fixed  with  an  empty  stare  upon 
a  filmy  blue  peak  that  lifted  far  away  above  the  can- 
yon rim;  "the  Sphinx  look,"  Drake  had  jovially 
termed  It. 

"And  you  had  never  been  indebted  before?"  Dev- 
lin said  at  length. 

"Never  before." 

"You  are  thirty  years  old,  you  tell  me,"  pro- 
ceeded Devlin,  still  gazing  at  the  filmy  peak.  The 
voice  was  all  but  expressionless  now,  contrasting 
strongly  with  his  former  animated  conversation 
concerning  the  scenery.  "Thirty  years — how  much 
have  you  earned  In  that  time?" 

"I  was  not  obliged  to  work,"  replied  Drake;  "I 
had  an  Income;  my  money  worked  for  me,  as  you 
might  say." 

"Thirty  years — and  how  much  did  you  spend?" 
pursued  Devlin,  quietly. 

"It  all  went,"  said  Drake;  "It  was  a  modest  for- 
tune." 

"How  much? — a  hundred  thousand — two  hun- 
dred thousand ?" 

"More  than  that,  I'm  afraid." 

"Call  It  three  hundred  thousand — It  makes  no 
difference,"  continued  Devlin  with  the  same  ma- 
chine-like utterance.  "You  spent  It.  You  were  not 
obliged  to  work,  so  you  earned  nothing." 


36  LIFE'S   LURE 

*^I  had  it  from  my  father,"  explained  Drake, 
slightly  bewildered  at  the  turn  the  conversation  had 
taken. 

''You  had  it  from  your  father,"  echoed  Devlin; 
"and  it  worked  for  you — Samuel  Drake — gentle- 
man by  profession.  Quite  so.  And  yet — you  are 
slightly  mistaken.  Money  does  not  work;  It  has  not 
hands  to  toll,  nor  brow  to  sweat,  nor  heart  to  break. 
No,  money  does  not  work  for  men — men  work  for 
money!  The  tragedy  of  the  world  is  somewhere  In 
that  slight  distinction  which,  doubtless,  seems  a  mere 
platitude  to  you.  A  little  arithmetic  will  unmask  the 
tragedy.  How  much  is  a  man  worth  at  the  prevail- 
ing market  price?  Say  one  dollar  per  day — a  hu- 
man animal  with  very  good  hands  can  be  bought  for 
less.  Three  hundred  days  to  the  year — three  hun- 
dred dollars.  You  have  spent  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  That  is  to  say,  you  have  spent  the 
entire  lives  of  twenty  men  tolling  from  boyhood  to 
dotage ! 

"And  Indebtedness,  you  tell  me,  was  a  new  and 
distressing  experience  to  you!  How  had  you 
planned  to  restore  the  lives  of  those  twenty  men,  my 
friend?" 

"You  remind  me  of  the  sophist's  argument," 
chuckled  Drake,  "concerning  the  man  who  says  'I 
am  a  liar.'  If  the  man  lies,  he  tells  the  truth;  and 
if  he  tells  the  truth,  he  lies!"  Doubtless,  Louis  is  in 
a  merry  mood  to-day,  Drake  thought. 

"Or,"  continued  Devlin,  seeming  to  have  heard 


LIFE'S    LURE  37 

nothing;  *'since  Samuel  Drake  Is,  after  all,  only  one 
man,  let  us  say  that  another  man,  some  obscure 
John  Jones,  fashioned  very  much  like  Samuel  Drake, 
has  already  tolled  from  boyhood  to  dotage  that  Mr. 
Drake  may  enjoy  himself  and  have  white  hands. 
And  that  obscure  man  Jones  has  died — worn  out — 
having  paid  only  one-twentieth  of  the  principal  spent 
so  gracefully  by  Mr.  Drake.  And  as  It  is  a  more 
or  less  troublesome  natural  law  that  debts  must  be 
paid  somehow,  Jones  shall  not  rest  in  his  grave, 
but  shall  be  reborn  at  once,  and  once  more  he  shall 
wear  himself  out  with  a  lifetime  of  toil — and  so 
on  for  twenty  lifetimes  of  toil — a  thousand  years — 
until  at  last  the  final  dollar  of  the  principal  spent  by 
Mr.  Drake  shall  have  been  earned.  But  the  world 
cries  out  for  interest,  and  John  Jones  shall  toil  yet 
another  Hfetime,  and  then  yet  another,  that  the 
compounding  increment  of  a  thousand  years  may 
be  paid — a  Wandering  Jew  terrible  to  contem- 
plate!" 

Drake  was  on  the  point  of  laughing  out  merrily 
at  what  he  had  supposed  to  be  his  companion's  sly 
humor,  when  Devlin  turned  upon  him  a  face  so 
changed  that  Drake  was  startled  into  silence. 

The  eyes  looked  upon  him  with  the  dull  light  of 
weariness,  and  the  face,  habitually  care-free,  was 
now  marked  as  with  pain. 

"And  this  is  not  enough  debt,"  he  continued,  his 
voice  for  the  first  time  betraying  emotion.  ^'Having 
sacrificed  John  Jones  to  endless  labor,  you  say  to 


38  LIFE'S   LURE 

yourself:  'I  must  go  to  the  gold  fields,  dig  up  an- 
other three  hundred  thousand — no,  five  hundred 
thousand — a  million' — your  hunger  for  debt  is 
really  insatiable — 'a  million  dollars,  that  I  may  sac- 
rifice still  other  Joneses  and  Smiths  and  Browns  to 
endless  labor — for  Samuel  Drake,  gentleman  by  di- 
vine right!'  Only  you  have  not  taken  the  pains  to 
be  quite  honest  with  yourself.  You  thought :  'I  shall 
have  earned  the  million  in  gold  by  the  mere  act  of 
lifting  it  from  the  ground.'  But  again  you  are  mis- 
taken. Let  us  define  that  amount  of  gold  so  ac- 
quired. It  would  be  a  sight  draft,  payable  in  hu- 
man endeavor,  drawn  upon  the  world  of  men  by  one 
who  had  deposited  nothing!  For  gold  is  not  earned 
until  it  has  passed  through  the  bath  of  human  sweat 
and  blood!  How  had  you  planned  paying  those 
who  are  to  earn  it  for  you,  my  friend?" 

"But — ^but — "  gasped  Drake,  astounded  at  the 
length  to  which  his  companion's  sophistry  had  led, 
"you  undermine  the  whole  social  structure — like 
a  hot  wind  from  the  desert,  you  wither  all  the  en- 
chanting gardens  of  the  world!  You  sweep  beauty 
from  the  earth !  You  destroy  the  priceless  pictures, 
the  sculpture,  the  poetry,  the  music " 

" — all  for  an  obscure  John  Jones  whose  breath 
smells  of  garlic  and  whose  sweat  offends  the  sensi- 
tive nostrils  of  the  Drakes!"  added  Devlin,  his  ex- 
pression changing  suddenly  to  the  habitual  one  of 
freedom  from  care. 

"But,  being  myself  quite   enamored  of  the  en- 


LIFE'S   LURE  39 

chanting  gardens,  I  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  con- 
tinued Devlin;  "I  merely  point  out — with  proper 
apologies — a  slight  error  in  your  conception  of  debt. 
A  long  while  ago,  In  the  twilight  of  history,  the 
Devil  awoke  and  saw  men  happy  In  that  none  of 
them  had  yet  forgotten  their  mother,  the  Earth; 
for  the  fields  yielded  ample  sustenance,  and  each 
man  was  like  a  little  child  at  suck.  And  the  Devil 
said:  *ThIs  Is  not  good;  I  shall  create  a  medium  of 
exchange,  that  It  may  be  possible  for  one  man  to 
possess  the  harvests  of  a  hundred  years!'  So  he 
breathed  an  irresistible  lure  Into  gold,  and  men  be- 
gan to  stamp  it  with  the  Image  of  the  first  Samuel 
Drake;  and  at  the  touch  of  the  minted  lure,  men 
forgot  their  ancient  mother.  And  the  Devil  laughed, 
seeing  that  It  was  good.  In  my  youth,  I  discovered 
a  most  valuable  secret — that  a  stolen  dollar  buys 
quite  as  much  as  a  dollar  earned.  Now  a  man's 
chief  business  in  this  world  seems  to  be  to  break  his 
heart  under  some  load.  We  are  all  bearers  of 
sacks  filled  with  God  knows  what ;  and  little  does  it 
matter,  so  long  as  the  load  is  heavy  enough  for  the 
purpose.  John  Jones  may  do  it  under  the  weight 
of  labor;  you  and  I  under  a  load  of  debt.  And 
thrice  happy  Is  he  who  does  not  look  into  his  sack 
too  soon — Driver,  how  far  are  we  from  Bear 
Gulch?" 

The  stage  had  left  the  canyon  and  the  horses  were 
toiling  up  a  long  series  of  grades  that  culminated  in 
a  dark  summit,  shaggy  with  touselled  pines. 


40  LIFE'S   LURE 

"It's  over  that  far  rise  yonder,"  said  the  driver, 
indicating  the  direction  with  a  flick  of  the  long  whip. 
"Bear  Creek  heads  in  yonder — that's  Potato  Gulch 
over  there,  and  the  black  rim  you  see  beyond  is  Nig- 
ger Hill — that's  where  two  outlawed  niggers  picked 
up  a  wheelbarrow  load  of  it  right  out  of  the  grass 
roots!  Beats  hell,  don't  it?  Gold  don't  seem  to 
care  who  has  it!"  And  the  long  lash  registered  a 
stinging  protest  upon  the  flank  of  the  off  leader. 

A  pensive  mood  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  Drake 
like  a  shadow.  Now  that  Bear  Gulch — the  final 
goal  of  his  hopes,  as  he  felt  it  to  be — was  just  be- 
yond the  hill,  vague  forebodings  troubled  him.  He 
stared  out  over  the  panoramic  landscape,  already 
darkening  with  evening.  Down  through  a  forest 
alley  that  widened  out  toward  the  bottom  of  a  gulch 
a  thousand  feet  below,  he  saw  the  black  and  purple 
hills,  at  once  convulsed  and  silent,  like  a  sea  of  ink 
struck  dumb  and  motionless  at  the  height  of  tem- 
pest. A  lonesome,  lonesome  world!  Just  as  God 
left  it  with  the  mud  sticking  to  his  fingers,  save  for 
the  fire-blackened  pines  that  smutted  the  distant 
slopes,  typical  of  the  blighting  touch  of  man!  Far 
across  a  glooming  ravine,  a  rocky  crag  thrust  a  time- 
scarred  head  above  the  pines,  and  caught  the  last 
light.  A  lone  eagle  wheeled  monotonously  about 
the  summit.  In  some  indefinite  way,  the  eagle- 
haunted  crag,  reaching  out  of  the  frowning  hills 
toward  the  waning  light,  pictured  to  Drake  the 
vague  heartache  he  felt.     In  spite  of  the  fact  that 


LIFE'S   LURE  41 

he  had  laughed  at  Devlin's  sweeping  statements  re- 
garding debt,  a  sense  of  Insecurity  had  crept  into 
his  long-cherished  scheme  of  things — a  snake  Into 
his  preconceived  personal  Eden.  Perhaps  the  driv- 
er's casual  remark  had  done  its  part:  *'Gold  don't 
seem  to  care  who  has  it." 

The  more  Drake  turned  over  the  careless  state- 
ment, the  more  insecure  he  felt.  A  gentleman, 
carefully  nurtured  on  all  the  beautiful  things  of  the 
world,  might  shoot  himself  for  the  want  of  that 
which  an  outlawed  negro  might  pick  up  quite  by 
chance  in  his  flight  from  Justice!  What  did  it 
mean?  Was  it  possible  that  a  gentleman  was  only 
a  kind  of  accident  after  all?  He  had  always  thought 
of  the  life  of  elegance  and  ease  as  being  the  positive, 
and  that  of  the  sordid  strugglers,  the  negative. 
Could  It  be  that ? 

Drake  became  conscious  of  the  mountain  chill, 
shrugged,  buttoned  his  coat,  and  thrust  the  matter 
out  of  his  mind.  Of  course  it  was  only  another  way 
of  shivering — a  mental  way ! 

They  had  reached  the  summit,  and  now  plunged 
down  the  other  side.  Ten  minutes  later  the  stage, 
swinging  round  sharply  In  a  cloud  of  sand  from  the 
heels  of  the  reined-in  leaders,  stopped  in  front  of 
a  low,  rambling  log  shack,  designated  by  a  sign- 
board to  be  the  *'Boss  Eating  House."  This  was 
one  of  an  irregular  series  of  log  houses  skirting  a 
creek  bed  littered  with  sluice  boxes  and  distorted 
with  placer  diggings.    There  was  but  one  street,  and 


42  LIFE'S   LURE 

that  was  Bear  Creek.  As  far  as  one  could  see  up  a 
confluent  gulch,  the  tops  of  candle-lit  tents  glim- 
mered in  the  gathering  dusk.  On  all  sides  the  roll- 
ing pine-clad  hills  frowned  darkly.  But  the  place 
had  about  it  the  feel  of  life  at  high  tension.  Lights 
struggled  through  every  dingy  window.  The  gut- 
tural sound  of  carousal  came  out  of  the  door  of  the 
*'King  Nugget  Saloon";  and  now  and  then  some 
tippler  punctuated  his  maudlin  joy  with  the  crack  of 
a  six-shooter.  Boot  heels  thumped  rhythmically  in 
the  "Bonanza  Dance  Hall";  and  now  and  then 
hoarse  laughter  drowned  out  the  squawking  ecstasy 
of  the  fiddles. 


"How  do  you  like  my  biscuits?''  asked  the  pro- 
prietress, a  square-built,  substantial  woman.  With 
toil-worn  hands  resting  upon  her  hips,  she  awaited 
reply. 

Devlin  had  finished  eating  and  had  gone  out  "to 
hunt  up  a  game,"  leaving  Drake  quite  alone  at  the 
table  with  his  coffee.  Once  more  the  sense  of  in- 
security had  grown  up  within  him,  and,  toiling  vainly 
In  the  midst  of  his  disarranged  cosmos,  Drake  was 
only  half  conscious  that  someone  had  spoken.  The 
question  was  therefore  repeated. 

"I  say,  howM  the  biscuits  go?" 

Drake  looked  up  from  his  coffee  to  meet  a  pair 
of  gentle  woman-eyes,  set  in  a  face  marked  but  not 
disfigured  with  hardships. 

"Biscuits?"  repeated  Drake,  slowly  emerging 
from  his  musing. 

"Yes — the  biscuits,"  repeated  the  woman,  moth- 
ering him  with  her  eyes. 

"Oh — the  biscuits — excellent  Indeed — quite  so!" 

"Well,  I'm  glad,"  replied  the  woman  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  her  face  beaming  joyfully.  "When  you 
and  your  pardner  come  In  so  late,  and  all  the  supper 

43 


44  LIFE'S   LURE 

cold — the  boys  having  eat  and  run — I  was  all  of  a 
flutter  because  you  looked  so  peaked  and  pale,  like, 
and  thin.  I  says  to  myself,  Lawsy,  that  man  needs 
a  good  square  meal  If  ever  a  man  did!  And  so  I 
flew  around  and  whipped  up  a  batch  of  biscuits — 
and  I'm  awful  glad  you  liked  'em!" 

''You  were  very  kind,  madam." 

Mrs.  Woollver  was  bustling  about  the  table, 
clearing  away  the  dishes. 

''No — don't  get  up — you  ain't  In  the  way  at  all — 
just  take  your  time  to  your  coffee.  And  won't  you 
have  some  more  biscuits?  No?  Well,  maybe 
you've  been  workin'  Indoors,  and  that  takes  your 
appetite  and  makes  you  look  thin — grocery  clerk  or 
something." 

A  haughty  smile  lingered  for  a  moment  on 
Drake's  lips. 

"I  hope  you  won't  take  me  amiss,"  continued  the 
proprietress,  radiating  motherllness.  "You  see, 
I'm  sort  of  mother  to  all  the  boys,  and  It  sticks  to 
me  like  a  bad  habit.  I'm  just  Ma  Woollver — - 
that's  what  they  all  call  me,  and  I'm  sinful  proud  of 
it.  You  see,  when  Pa  Woollver  was  blowed  up 
with  a  blast,  I  declare  I  didn't  know  what  to  do 
with  my  two  hands,  with  no  buttons  to  sew  on  and 
no  socks  to  darn,  and  nary  a  strong  man's  stomach 
to  fill  three  times  a  day." 

The  gentle  eyes  softened  still  more  with  the  bar- 
est Indication  of  moisture.  "And  I  just  says,  I'll 
let  on  like  every  mother's  son  of  'em  that  comes 


LIFE'S   LURE  45 

here  a-huntin'  gold  Is  one  of  Pa's  boys,  and  Fll  feed 
'em  when  they're  hungry  and  darn  their  socks  and 
sew  on  their  buttons.  Of  course,  I've  just  got  to 
charge  for  the  eatln,'  bein'  a  poor  woman;  but  the 
darnin'  and  sewin'  Is  throwed  In.  And  many  a  man 
has  gone  away  from  the  Boss  Eatln'  House  with 
one  of  Ma  Woollver's  httle  prayers  stitched  good 
and  strong  Into  his  pants — pants  wear  out  worst  In 
placer  diggln's!" 

Drake  sipped  his  coffee,  hardly  knowing  what  to 
think  of  this  new  type  of  servant.  Evidently,  he 
was  being  patronized.  A  gentleman  patronized  by 
a  hireling!  And  yet — the  sense  of  Insecurity  grew 
apace  as  the  proprietress  ran  on. 

"I  wisht  I  knew  your  name — not  your  family 
name.  They  don't  mean  much,  after  all — family 
names — do  they?  They're  all  right  when  you're 
thinkin'  about  a  man's  grandfather  and  great-grand- 
father. But  It's  the  first  name  that  counts.  Now 
take  a  name  like  Bill  Andrews.  You  say  Mr.  An- 
drews, and  It  don't  mean  a  thing  but  a  grandfather 
and  a  great-grandfather,  and  a  great-great-grand- 
father, until  you're  all  addled.  But  say  you  call 
him  Whiskey  BUI  or  Windy  Bill  or  Sandy  Bill — 
and  there  you  are  with  a  picture  of  the  man !  His 
grandfathers  fall  off  of  him  and  he's  standin'  on  his 
two  feet,  lookln'  you  right  In  the  eye ! 

*'0h,  your  name's  Sam!"  she  ejaculated.  Drake 
had  given  the  name  as  Samuel.  ''Now  that's  a 
good  healthsome  name — It's  such  a  good  he  name — 


46  LIFE'S   LURE 

like  Bill  and  Joe  and  Pete !  But  the  boysUl  be  sure 
to  call  you  *Slim'  or  'Hungry'  or  something.  Do 
have  another  cup  of  coffee !  I'm  keeping  it  het  for 
you.     That's  good!     It'll  brace  you  up." 

While  Ma  Wooliver  had  been  talking,  the  image 
of  his  wife,  Joy,  had  grown  up  strongly  in  Drake's 
mind.  What  a  contrast!  If  Joy  was  a  woman, 
what  was  this  before  him — this  toil-scarred  un- 
beautiful  thing,  that  discussed  the  darning  of  socks 
and  the  patching  of  pants,  levelling  the  whole  world 
into  a  sordid  hunger  for  biscuits,  naked  and  crying 
to  be  clothed? 

Here  once  more  was  a  yawping  pipe  of  the  great 
organ.  The  thought  of  Joy  was  like  a  beacon  light 
piercing  the  bewildering  gloom,  and  he  was  seized 
with  a  strong  desire  to  cry  out  to  her.  So  he  had 
accepted  the  offer  of  the  coffee.  Intending  to  drink 
it  while  writing  a  letter. 

*Ta  Wooliver  used  to  like  to  drink  coffee  of  an 
evening,"  declared  the  proprietress,  as  she  bustled 
Into  the  room  with  a  steaming  cup.  "And  he  liked 
It  good  and  strong.  Used  to  set  and  sozzle  his 
cake  In  It.  'Make  it  strong  enough  to  bear  up  an 
Iron  wedge,'  he  used  to  say.  You  know  he  was  a 
blacksmith  before  he  got  the  gold-fever.  That  was 
In  '49.  I  often  wisht  he'd  stayed  at  the  anvil.  I 
says  to  him,  'Pa,  we're  makin'  a  good  livin'  here, 
and  It  ain't  Christian  to  want  more'n  you  need. 
Earn  your  livin'  by  the  sweat  of  your  brow,'  I  says. 
*I  know  it's  hard,  swingin'  a  hammer  all  day,  but 


LIFE'S   LURE  47 

It's  honest,  and  grub  tastes  best  when  it  comes 
hard.'  But  Pa  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  Not  that  I'm 
findin'  fault  with  him.  He'd  got  the  fever;  and  I 
went  with  him  as  a  wife  'd  ought  to  do.  And  the 
sleddin'  's  been  hard  ever  since.  And  it  was  harder 
on  Pa  than  on  me.  He  got  so's  he  was  always 
seein'  shiny  heaps  of  gold,  and  his  face  got  to  look 
like  somethin'  was  after  him.  He  was  always  sure 
it  would  come  in  the  next  clean-up.  But  it  never 
come.     Poor  Pa !" 

She  brushed  her  eyes  with  the  hem  of  her 
apron. 

*'0h,  this  gold!  What'd  God  ever  let  it  be  made 
for?  I've  been  in  a  dozen  camps,  and  I  know  there 
ain't  any  good  comes  of  it.  I've  seen  boys'  faces 
turn  old  too  soon,  so's  their  mothers  wouldn't  've 
knowed  'em.  They  all  come  after  it  with  the  same 
hopeful  look.  And  some  of  'em  goes  away  with 
broken  hearts;  and  some  of  'em  goes  away  with 
hearts  too  hard  for  pity  any  more — and  some  of 
'em  goes  away  feet  first." 

"Would  you  kindly  give  me  some  writing  mate- 
rial?" said  Drake,  pouncing  eagerly  upon  the  first 
pause.  Although  he  could  not  mistake  the  genuine 
kindliness  of  the  woman,  her  talk  stifled  him.  Here 
was  the  two-dollar  pocket,  incarnate  and  vocal — 
the  clacking  tongue  of  sordidness. 

"You  dear  boy!"  exclaimed  Ma  Wooliver. 
"You're  going  to  write  a  letter  home !  I've  half  a 
mind  to  kiss  you  for  that !     I  always  say  that  a  man 


48  LIFE'S   LURE 

IS  safe  long  as  he  can  write  home.  I  can  just  see 
your  old  ma  a-readin'  It!" 

She  bustled  out  of  the  room  and  presently  re- 
turned with  paper,  pen  and  Ink. 

"There  you  are !"  she  puffed.  "And  when  you 
get  It  all  said,  put  Ma  Woollver's  love  In  one  corner. 
It  won't  need  to  take  much  room,  and  she'll  be  glad 
there's  somebody  to  look  after  you.  Men  does 
make  such  an  out  at  patchin'  and  the  like !  And  I 
always  say  a  man  can't  feel  respectable  If  he  ain't 
kept  well  patched! 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  writing  home,"  she  went  on 
pleasantly,  as  she  piled  up  the  remaining  dishes. 
"And  If  you'll  only  keep  It  up !  I've  seen  'em  start 
out  that  way,  and  I've  seen  'em  forget  a  little  more 
and  a  little  more — until  the  backbone  sort  of  went 
out  of  'em — whafs  that  forf* 

Drake,  true  to  his  Instincts,  had  unostentatiously 
placed  on  the  table  a  silver  coin,  which,  being  at  first 
unnoticed,  he  had  now  pushed  toward  Mrs.  Wool- 
iver. 

"Not  for  the  paper  and  Ink!  You  don't  mean 
that,  Sam !  Gracious  me,  If  I  was  to  ask  you  to  get 
a  pall  of  water  from  the  spring  for  me,  when  the 
meat  was  bollln'  over  and  I  couldn't  leave  It,  you 
wouldn't  ask  me  for  a  half  dollar,  would  you?" 

There  was  a  note  of  sorrow  In  her  voice,  and 
her  face  showed  disappointment.  Drake  stared 
dumfounded  upon  this  new  kind  of  servant  that 
wouldn't  take  a  tip. 


LIFE'S   LURE  49 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Drake.  "It  has  merely  been 
a  custom  of  mine — thank  you  very  much." 

He  returned  the  coin  to  his  pocket,  and  took  up 
the  pen. 

"That's  right;  you  just  save  your  money.  Good- 
ness knows  it  may  come  in  handy  enough."  But 
the  incident  served  to  silence  her,  and  Drake  fell  to 
his  letter. 

He  began  the  message  to  Joy  in  the  usual  way, 
spanning  the  chasm  that  lay  between  with  a  bridge 
of  endearments,  and  tripping  lightly  across,  breathed 
once  more  the  breath  of  the  Other  Side.  Pictures 
of  the  old  life  grew  upon  the  paper  under  his  dream- 
ing pen ;  and  this  was  followed  up  by  a  glowing  en- 
comium on  Louis  Devlin. 

"Two  loves  are  given  to  a  man  in  a  lifetime," 
wrote  Drake  as  a  climax  to  his  generous  praise; 
"one  for  a  woman  and  one  for  a  man.  You  are 
the  woman,  and  the  man  is  Louis  Devlin!  Think 
of  him  often  and  ever  so  kindly.  Love  the  thought 
of  him  as  you  would  love  a  distant  brother.  He  is 
our  savior — nothing  less !" 

At  this  point  in  his  letter,  Drake  was  lifted  out  of 
his  pleasant  dreams  by  a  sudden  eruption  of  the 
brutal  facts  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Wooliver. 

"Oh,  the  dear  thing !  It  wants  some  sugar,  don't 
it?"  cooed  she,  arising  suddenly  from  her  chair 
where  she  had  been  sitting,  busily  plying  the  knitting 
needles.  She  made  for  the  kitchen  with  waddling 
haste. 


so  LIFE'S   LURE 

Drake,  as  yet  only  half  aroused,  thought  vaguely, 
*'It's  some  child  she's  fond  of" ;  and,  gathering  him- 
self together  again,  began  forming  the  next  sen- 
tence. But,  simultaneous  with  the  reappearance 
of  Mrs.  Wooliver  carrying  sugar  in  her  hand,  there 
arose  from  the  region  of  the  door  behind  him,  a 
long  nerve-shattering  bray!  Startled  by  the  sound, 
he  turned  and  saw,  thrust  in  through  the  open  front 
door,  the  head  of  a  burro.  Abstract  thinking  being 
habitual  with  Drake,  the  ugly  head  and  the  rasping 
hee-haw  symbolized,  in  the  first  flash  of  disgust,  the 
world  into  which  he  had  been  plunged,  gasping,  at 
Sidney.  The  thought  depressed  him;  awakened 
again  with  increased  distinctness  the  sense  of  inse- 
curity, temporarily  forgotten  in  the  writing  of  the 
letter. 

"I  hope  you  wasn't  disturbed  too  much,"  began 
Mrs.  Wooliver,  conciliatingly,  after  having  fed  the 
brute  and  driven  it  from  the  door.  "And  it  must 
seem  silly  to  you,  feedin'  him  sugar.  But,  you  know, 
he  was  Pa  Wooliver's  burro.  Used  to  pack  Pa's 
grubstakes  and  his  picks  and  shovels  when  Pa  went 
prospectin'.  Christmas  must  be  twenty-five  year 
old  now;  that's  what  Pa  called  him — Christmas — 
'cause  he  was  so  tarnation  slow.  When  Pa  died, 
seemed  like  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  sell  Christ- 
mas. Seemed  like  part  of  Pa.  So  I  just  kept  him. 
All  the  boys  uses  him,  when  they  can  lay  hands  onto 
him,  which  ain't  easy.  Sees  'em  comin'  and  takes 
to  the  brush!" 


LIFE'S   LURE  51 

"The  History  of  the  Burro/'  thought  Drake,  "set 
forth  in  a  prologue,  ninety-nine  chapters  and  an 
epilogue,  with  appendices  and  copious  annota- 
tions." 

"And  there  is  something  odd  about  that  beast — 
I  do  declare  there  is !  Do  you  know,  I  can  pretty 
near  always  tell  when  something's  goln'  to  happen 
by  the  way  that  burro  brays.  Now  just  the  night 
before  the  last  shootin',  when  three  men  was  laid 
out,  and  two  others  shot  up  fearful,  you  won't  be- 
lieve it,  but  that  burro  brayed  all  night  up  on  the 
hill  where  Pa's  buried.  I  hardly  slept  a  wink  till 
mornin'  a-hearin'  him  bray!" 

Once  more  Mrs.  Wooliver  subsided,  and  Drake 
fell  to  his  letter.  But  he  couldn't  get  on;  the  pen 
refused  to  create  hopeful  pictures.  The  sense  of 
insecurity  had  grown  into  a  sense  of  impending 
doom. 

Three  muffled  pistol-shots  brought  Mrs.  Wooli- 
ver once  more  to  her  feet. 

"My  God!"  she  gasped.  "Can  it  be  Pete  and 
Monte  Joe  that's  got  at  it  at  last?" 

With  anxious  face  she  waddled  to  the  door  and 
out  into  the  night.  When  she  returned,  her  face 
had  regained  its  gentleness. 

"No,  it  ain't  Pete  and  Monte  Joe,  thank  God! 
It's  just  somebody  takin'  a  pop  at  the  lights  down  at 
the  Bonanza.  What  a  fright  I  had!  Pete's  got  it  in 
for  Joe,  and  it's  only  a  matter  of  liquor  and  a  quick 
word.     Never  a  better  man  breathed  than  Pete — 


52  LIFE'S   LURE 

but  he's  too  quick  with  his  gun  when  he's  drinkin'. 
I  tell  him  it  ain't  Christian,  but  he  won't  hear." 

Drake's  pen  began  to  move  again. 

''But,  O  my  Own,"  he  wrote,  continuing  his  let- 
ter; ''hideous  doubts  torture  me  at  times.  Would 
that  you  were  near  to  kiss  them  away!  Something 
tells  me,  at  times,  that  all  this  Venice  of  ours  Is  but 
a  fool's  paradise,  from  which  we  are  being  driven. 
Oh,  the  flaming  sword,  and  the  gates  barred,  and  a 
barren,  hideous  world  unconquered  before  us !  And 
the  terrible  part  of  It  is  that  I  doubt  my  strength. 
I  am  like  a  man  who  has  felt  the  night  about  him 
grow  Icy  with  the  presence  of  an  unseen  ghost,  and 
I  tremble  lest  that  with  the  next  opening  of  the  eyes, 
the  ghost  shall  be  revealed,  and  have  the  face  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  me,  but  Is  dead!  It  may  be  only  a 
nervous  disorder.  Incident  to  the  shock  at  Sidney. 
I  pray  that  It  prove  to  be  only  that.  To  have  loved 
the  apples  of  the  gods,  and  to  taste  at  last  only 
ashes !     Dearest,  I  shall  not  be  strong  enough " 

Drake,  suddenly  awakening  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  no  longer  writing  to  his  wife,  but  merely  giving 
expression  to  his  haunting  fear,  broke  off  abruptly. 
"She  would  never  understand  It,"  he  thought;  "and 
perhaps  It  Is  foolish." 

He  destroyed  the  gloomy  portion  of  the  letter, 
and  left  only  the  pleasant  things  and  the  praise  of 
Devlin,  the  friend. 


VI 


The  quartz  mine  Is  the  rich  man's  mine.  Indee( 
a  very  poor  man,  with  arms  capable  of  swinging 
pick  and  shovel,  may  discover  the  gold-bearing  rock, 
but  he  cannot  develop  his  find  without  capital.  And 
the  process  may  be  baffling;  so  much  so  that  a  strong 
heart  may  break  before  the  fortune  Issues  from  the 
mill — Into  the  pocket  of  some  man  who  does  not 
need  It,  and  who,  therefore,  does  not  swing  the  pick 
and  shovel. 

But  the  placer  mine  Is  different.  Nothing  could 
be  simpler  than  this,  the  poor  man's  method  of  woo- 
ing that  capricious  jilt.  Fortune.  First,  one  needs 
only  to  locate  his  claim.  The  method  of  successful 
procedure  is  simple,  though  always  uncertain.  Gold, 
indeed.  Is  where  you  find  It;  but  placer  gold  lies  al- 
ways In  the  path  of  the  ancient  wash  that  boomed 
down  gulch  and  canyon  when  the  prehistoric  sea 
was  going  out.  Any  creek  bed,  draining  a  gold- 
bearing  region,  may  therefore,  serve  as  a  valley  of 
diamonds  to  any  lucky  Sinbad — and  It  may  not. 
Dish  up  a  panful  of  pebbles  from  the  creek,  care- 
fully eliminate,  by  washing,  all  that  Is  not  gold,  and 
you  will,  or  will  not,  find  small  unmistakable  parti- 
cles in  the  bottom.     The  unmistakable  particles  may 

53 


54  LIFE'S   LURE 

be  of  a  glittering  yellow,  an  Indescribable  green,  or 
a  dirty  Intermediate  color.  But  whatever  their 
color,  they  will  be  heavy.  And  the  more  you  fondle 
the  first  grain  of  gold  you  have  ever  dug  up,  the 
heavier  It  will  seem  to  you. 

Still,  men  have  been  known  to  go  mad  over  small 
^^unmistakable  particles"  that  were  decidedly  not 
gold.  You  may  find  nothing  In  the  creek,  and  so 
you  dig  In  the  bank,  throwing  dirt  like  a  pocket  go- 
pher, In  order  that  you  may  reach  bed  rock  as  soon 
as  possible.  For  some  one  has  told  you  that  gold, 
being  very  heavy,  sinks  as  far  as  It  can,  and  Is  there- 
fore to  be  found  close  to  the  solid  rock  over  which 
the  ancient  wash  passed.  And  this  is  true — quite 
true,  indeed.  If  you  find  It  there. 

And  you  reach  bed  rock,  carefully  cherishing  all 
the  gravel  for  six  or  eight  Inches  above  It.  You 
even  scrape  the  rock  Itself,  and  you  pan  some  of  the 
stuff.  You  find  traces,  that  Is,  some  of  the  "unmis- 
takable particles."  Then  you  prepare  a  signboard, 
stating  that  you,  Richard  Roe,  have  become  a  man 
of  Importance,  being  the  owner  by  right  of  discov- 
ery, of  the  patch  of  rocky  creek  bank  described  in 
the  sign.  Having  received  a  bone  from  Fortune, 
you  nail  this  visual  growl  to  a  conspicuous  tree,  and 
then  you  begin  to  swell  or  shrink,  according  to  your 
original  size. 

And  even  though  you  swell,  there  is  ample  justifi- 
cation in  human  nature  for  the  fact.  Burled  treas- 
ure is  irresistibly  fascinating.     Probably  most  men 


LIFE'S   LURE  ss 

have,  at  some  time  in  their  lives,  dreamed  wistfully 
of  buccaneers'  doubloons  and  pieces-of-eight,  cached 
snugly  away  in  the  sands  of  a  desert  isle.  But  the 
thought  of  piratical  plunder  carries  with  it  always 
a  sense  of  necessary  limitation;  whereas  the  thought 
of  free  gold,  clinging  to  the  bed  rock,  carries  with  It 
a  sense  of  Infinite  riches;  for  not  a  pirate,  but  Na- 
ture, the  Inexhaustible  herself,  has  placed  It  there. 
How  much?  The  Imagination  takes  flame  at  the 
possible  answer.  Therefore,  the  placer  mine  is  Na- 
ture's supreme  lure. 

Drake  was  at  last  fairly  launched  in  his  Quest  of 
the  Golden  Fleece,  as,  characteristically,  he  put  it  to 
himself.  To  be  sure,  the  glorious  old  legend  fitted 
rather  loosely  about  the  facts  In  the  case;  but  the 
mental  picture  of  the  purple  sails  and  the  flashing 
sea  and  the  aloof  splendor  of  ancient  story  mitigated 
in  a  measure  the  prose  of  a  sordid  present. 

Mrs.  Wooliver,  having  coaxed  the  burro  into  cap- 
tivity with  a  handful  of  sugar,  had  given  personal 
attention  to  Drake's  outfitting.  With  her  own 
hands  she  had  illustrated  the  mystery  of  the  packer's 
knot.  Pork,  prayers,  blankets,  good  advice,  a  skil- 
let, biscuits,  sincere  good  wishes,  a  pick,  a  shovel 
and  a  pan  were  fastened  by  her  on  the  back  of 
Christmas.  "Likely  as  not  the  poor  boy's  only  goin' 
out  to  get  his  heart  broke,"  she  explained  In  an  aside 
to  Sandy  Pete.  All  men  were  boys  to  Mrs.  Wool- 
iver. 

Pete  had  donated  to  the  tenderfoot's  expedition  a 


56  LIFE'S   LURE 

brief  but  pointed  lesson  upon  the  rudiments  of  placer 
mining.  "And  If  you  get  lost,"  he  had  added,  "fol- 
low the  jackass — give  him  his  head." 

At  last  Drake  had  gotten  away,  leading  the  heav- 
ily laden  burro.  He  threaded  his  way  among  the 
diggings  along  the  course  of  Bear  Creek,  in  and  out 
among  the  tents  that  thinned  out  as  he  went,  until 
he  found  himself  alone  in  a  whispering  wilderness 
of  pines. 

He  stopped  and  looked  about.  What  a  temple 
for  the  goddess,  Fortuna!  Green  aisles  of  awe, 
translucent  arches  of  emerald,  pavement  of  dappled 
gloom  and  gold,  and  the  mystic  oracular  whispering 
of  the  elusive  secret ! 

Which  way  should  he  go  next?  He  picked  up  a 
stick,  pointed  at  one  end,  and  cast  it  Into  the  air.  It 
fell  to  the  ground  with  its  point  toward  a  gulch  that 
wound  back  into  the  wilderness.  Drake  termed 
this  act  his  "prayer  to  the  goddess."  He  was  In  a 
most  hopeful  mood  this  morning;  Indeed,  his  mood 
was  almost  merry.  Once  launched  upon  an  under- 
taking, doubts  flee;  the  way  unfolds  as  one  pro- 
ceeds. Drake  felt  now  that  his  former  forebodings 
of  failure  were  absurd.  Perhaps  they  had  been  due 
to  a  temporary  loss  of  the  distinct  sense  of  identity, 
Incident  to  so  complete  and  sudden  a  change  of  en- 
vironment. 

"Well,  Christmas,  Fortuna  has  answered;  shall 
we  obey,  you  Incarnation  of  Ugliness?"  said  Drake 
jovially. 


LIFE'S   LURE  57 

Christmas  had  opinions  that  he  did  not  care  to  ex- 
press. He  therefore  maintained  his  state  of  stand- 
ing doze.  Drake  jerked  the  beast  into  motion 
again,  and  entered  the  gulch,  down  which  a  merry 
little  rivulet  ran,  chattering  among  mossy  stones. 
The  pine-scented  air  was  cool  and  exhilarating. 
Here  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  to  him  the  ugly 
interior  of  the  organ;  but  once  more  he  heard  the 
master-harmony. 

"I've  exorcised  the  blue  devils,"  he  thought  with 
a  hopeful  thrill.  "Nothing  like  a  brisk  tramp  in 
mountain  air  for  that!" 

He  began  to  ponder  the  possible  anecdotal  value 
of  this  experience,  in  future  time  when  it  should  have 
passed  away  into  the  realm  of  reminiscence.  "My 
adventures  with  a  burro!"  What  a  theme  for  after- 
dinner  humor!  One  could  pardonably  stretch  the 
facts  to  such  droll  lengths.  One  might  even  spice 
the  extravagant  tale  with  a  shiver  or  two,  by  intro- 
ducing an  unexpected  element  of  the  eerie — Christ- 
mas foretelling  tragedy  by  braying  all  night  over  the 
grave  of  his  dead  master!  Mrs.  Wooliver,  and 
her  reduction  of  the  entire  universe  to  a  naked  hun- 
ger for  soda  biscuits!  What  a  character  for  the 
post-prandial  yarn !  "One  evening  in  the  Spring  of 
'77  I  was  sitting  at  a  table  in  the  Boss  Eating 
House.  I  was  hew  to  the  country,  and  I  confess 
that  I  was  a  bit  blue  and  possibly  homesick.  I  was 
writing  a  letter  to  my  wife,  when,  suddenly,  from 
the  open  door  behind  me "      (Enter  Christmas 


58  LIFE'S   LURE 

with  a  nerve-racking  bray!  A  flutter  of  growing 
interest  among  the  ladies!) 

Drake  emerged  suddenly  from  his  prematurely 
reminiscent  mood  to  find  that  the  gulch  had  widened 
out  into  an  open  upland  valley,  carpeted  with  green 
and  pied  with  many-colored  wild  flowers.  The 
quiet  beauty  of  the  place,  drenched  with  the  tem- 
pered sunlight  of  the  high  altitude,  touched  agree- 
ably upon  his  artistic  sense.  Such  an  enchanted 
golden  hush!  And  the  air  was  saturated  with  a 
rare  mingling  of  elusive  odors,  as  of  invisible  burn- 
ing censers  swung  about  him. 

Drake  staked  the  burro  out  to  feed,  built  a  fire 
with  sticks  gathered  from  the  underbrush  that 
fringed  the  virgin  meadow,  and  made  coffee.  He 
attacked  Ma  Wooliver's  cold  biscuits  with  an  artifi- 
cial zest,  thinking  the  while  how  it  would  all  fit  into 
the  after-dinner  mood  in  the  pleasant  years  to  come. 
"The  meal  was  meagre  enough,  to  be  sure;  but  such 
a  dining  room !  And  I  assure  you,  one  can  banquet 
on  cold  biscuits,  ladies !  Hunger  for  a  companion, 
and  the  orchestra  of  the  mountain  silence  play- 
ing  "     He  fashioned  the  tentative  sentences  for 

possible  future  use. 

Christmas  had  his  ugly  head  thrust  eye-deep  into 
the  flowers  and  was  munching  them  ruthlessly.  The 
sight  pictured  to  Drake  the  sordid  underworld's 
vandal  hunger  for  the  luxuries  of  the  chosen  few. 
Weeds  would  have  filled  the  conspicuous  paunch 
quite  as  effectively! 


LIFE'S   LURE  59 

But  It  was  time  to  be  on  the  move  again.  Which 
way?  Evidently  there  was  no  prospect  of  placer 
gold  here.  Let  Fortuna  direct.  Once  more 
Drake  cast  a  pointed  stick  into  the  air,  and  the  an- 
swer was  at  least  consistent,  since  the  stick  pointed 
in  the  direction  in  which  he  had  been  going  before. 
He  smiled  at  the  childishness  of  the  procedure; 
nevertheless,  it  was  a  smile  of  the  intellect  only.  It 
is  a  fact  that  whatever  latent  superstition  a  man  may 
have  in  his  make-up  will  come  to  the  surface  when 
he  hunts  gold.  He  may  laugh  at  it,  but  It  will  rule 
him.  Strip  a  man  bare  enough,  and  you  see  a 
pagan. 

Late  In  the  afternoon,  after  hours  of  scrambling 
through  underbrush,  Drake  found  himself  gazing 
into  a  wild  deep  valley,  already  growing  blue 
with  its  premature  evening.  At  the  sight,  he  was 
seized  with  an  Inexplicable  conviction  that  he 
had  reached  PIsgah  Height  and  saw  the  promised 
land. 

The  descent  was  hard,  and  night  had  fallen  when 
he  reached  the  bottom  where  a  rapid  brook  moaned 
out  of  the  dusk  into  the  dusk.  But  It  was  with  a 
merry  heart  that  he  unpacked,  and  pitched  his  tent, 
often  chuckling  to  himself  at  the  clumsiness  of  his 
hands,  unaccustomed  to  such  labor.  How  it  would 
all  fit  Into  the  reminiscences !  Laughter  drawn  ami- 
ably upon  oneself  Is  always  a  telling  form  of  humor. 
And  the  frying  of  the  sow-belly!  Only  he  would 
not  call  it  that  to  the  ladies.     And  the  hunger  for 


6o  LIFE'S   LURE 

it!  Inconceivable,  of  course;  but  real  hunger  is  a 
rare  experience! 

Drake  slept  soundly  that  night — not  a  dream. 
The  mist  was  lifting  in  ragged  masses  when  he 
awoke.  Hope  awoke  with  him,  stronger  now  than 
it  had  been  the  night  before.  After  a  hastily  pre- 
pared and  eaten  breakfast,  he  began  work,  attack- 
ing with  pick  and  shovel  a  bank  of  gravel  that 
seemed  promising.  At  least,  it  looked  like  the 
banks  along  the  creek  in  Bear  Gulch. 

But  it  was  very  heavy  work;  so  heavy,  that  within 
a  half-hour  he  felt  exhausted.  "I've  got  to  work 
more  slowly  until  I  get  accustomed  to  it,"  he 
thought;  "and  it's  no  wonder,  since  I  never  had  a 
pick  or  shovel  in  my  hand  until  now!"  He  sat 
staring  at  the  gravel  with  a  vague  but  unpleasant 
sense  of  impotence.  Weary  already,  and  only  an 
inconsiderable  indentation  in  the  bank!  He  caught 
himself  thinking,  childishly  enough,  "If  I  could  only 
shut  my  eyes — make  a  wish  and — presto ! — all  the 
work  done!" 

He  got  up  and  advanced  again  to  the  attack  with 
more  caution.  How  heavy  a  pick  was,  and  how 
slowly  the  work  progressed! 

That  evening  he  was  too  tired  to  eat.  Kindling 
a  fire,  he  made  some  strong  coffee,  and  while  drink- 
ing it,  thought  about  the  new  sensation  of  utter 
weariness.  He  could  not  think  of  it  otherwise  than 
objectively;  it  was  not  a  thing  of  his  world;  it  did 
not  belong  to  Samuel  Drake. 


LIFE'S   LURE  6i 

Devlin's  sentence  about  the  earning  of  gold  came 
back  to  him.  How  odd  to  say  that  one  could  not 
earn  it  by  digging  It  up !  He  felt  that  a  week  of 
this  torture  that  had  fastened  upon  him,  would  am- 
ply pay  for  the  most  fabulous  fortune.  Next  came 
Devlin's  hjrpothetical  John  Jones,  tolling  his  fifty 
years  for  a  dollar  or  so  a  day — that  Is,  for  his  bare 
existence ! 

Drake  shut  out  the  thought.  Even  though  Jones 
were  not  merely  hypothetical,  doubtless  he  was,  in 
some  way,  fashioned  for  his  task.  No  doubt,  a 
pick  seemed  very  light  indeed  to  John  Jones !  And 
perhaps  Mr.  Jones  was  not  fitted  to  enjoy  more 
than  a  mere  existence !  And  then — unquestionably 
Devlin  had  been  indulging  in  a  bit  of  sly  humor. 

When  Drake  awoke  in  the  morning  and  tried  to 
get  up,  dull  twinges  of  pain  shot  through  his  limbs. 
He  tried  again  and  succeeded  in  getting  outside  the 
tent  on  his  hands  and  knees.  The  sight  of  the  work 
done  the  day  before,  and  the  ultimate  meaning  of  it, 
encouraged  him  to  undergo  the  torture  of  getting 
to  his  feet.  But  his  back  felt  much  as  a  rusty  hinge 
sounds,  and  he  groaned  with  pain  as  he  stood  up. 

''Look  here,  Drake,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"you're  right  on  the  outer  rim  of  a  new  fortune,  and 
you  can't  quit!" 

That  day  was  harder  than  the  first,  but  he  clung 
to  his  task  manfully.  He  was  often  obliged  to  stop 
for  a  rest,  and  at  such  times  it  was  only  with  a  great 
effort  of  the  will  that  he  could  lift  the  pick  again. 


62  LIFE'S   LURE 

He  quit  work  early,  and  ate  supper  without  relish- 
ing it.  His  sleep  seemed  to  him  rather  a  series  of 
swoons  than  a  sleep.  Once  he  swooped  into  a 
gloomy  region  where  an  enormous  exaggeration  of 
a  man  was  shovelling  at  a  huge  bank  of  gravel  that 
grew  bigger  as  each  shovelful  was  taken  away.  And 
it  seemed  a  voice  cried  out  of  nowhere:  "Who  are 
you,  and  what  are  you  doing?"  And  the  enormous 
man  answered:  'Tm  John  Jones,  and  I'm  working 
for  Samuel  Drake!"  *'You're  not  John  Jones," 
came  a  voice  like  an  echo.  "You're  Drake — can't 
you  tell  it  by  the  ache?" 

Drake — can*t  you  tell  it  by  the  ache?  He  awoke 
with  the  rhyme  running  in  his  mind.  It  haunted 
him  all  day.  He  swung  pick  and  shovel  in  time 
to  it. 

Bed  rock  at  last! 

The  first  panful  of  gravel  showed  nothing;  the 
second,  nothing;  the  third,  nothing — a  succession  of 
blows.     Night  fell. 

Drake  stared  into  the  fire  and  tried  to  straighten 
out  the  cosmic  tangle.  Why  couldn't  it  have  been 
there  just  as  well  as  somewhere  else?  He  needed 
it  so  much.  What!  Was  it  all  a  matter  of  blind 
chance  ? 

He  refused  to  follow  the  possible  ramifications  of 
that  thought,  and  rolling  up  in  his  blanket,  con- 
tented himself  with  the  possibilities  of  to-morrow. 
Fatigue  soon  sent  him  to  sleep,  but  dreams  taunted 
him. 


LIFE'S   LURE  63 

With  the  first  light,  he  was  up  and  panning  again. 
Perhaps  he  had  not  been  careful  enough  before. 
But  there  was  no  trace  in  the  pan.  He  packed  up 
and  started  off  down  the  creek,  leading  Christmas. 
But  as  he  went,  he  could  feel  the  deserted  diggings 
at  his  back.  It  seemed  that  the  abandoned  spot 
exerted  a  magnetic  force  on  him.  The  odd  sense 
grew,  until  finally  he  staked  the  burro,  and,  taking 
the  pan  and  shovel,  he  returned  to  the  place  and 
once  more  filled  the  pan  with  gravel.  He  elimi- 
nated the  pebbles  with  great  care.  The  process 
took  at  least  an  hour.  Nothing.  And  still  once 
more  the  pan  washed  clean  without  a  single  glitter- 
ing particle. 

Drake  was  seized  with  a  childish  anger,  as 
though  some  malicious  and  Invisible  thing  had 
played  a  vile  practical  joke  upon  him.  Sullenly  he 
returned  to  the  burro,  and  proceeded  down  the 
valley. 

The  way  was  often  obstructed  with  rubble  and 
brush.  His  bones  ached  and  his  muscles  felt  swol- 
len and  feverish.  All  the  while  he  struggled  to  bar 
from  his  consciousness  the  hideous  thought  of  cer- 
tain failure  that  he  felt  lurking  just  outside.  "Pm 
only  tired,"  he  assurred  himself;  "and  after  Fve 
made  camp  again  and  rested  a  day  or  so,  I  can  go 
at  it  fresher.  Many  men  have  found  gold — why 
not  I?" 

He  stared  about  him  wistfully  at  the  stern  silent 
hills.     How   jealously   they   guarded   their   secret 


64  LIFE'S   LURE 

treasures !  For  surely  within  the  radius  of  a  voice 
calling  loudly,  untold  wealth  lay  hidden  away !  But 
no  sign  of  it!  Perhaps  he  was  even  then  hobbling 
over  it!  How  tantalizing  the  thought  was!  And 
then,  one  might  dig  for  weeks — and  just  manage  to 
miss  it !  Drake  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  actually  digging  for  weeks.  But,  set  against 
this  gloomy  prospect  was  the  probability  of  finding 
it  anywhere.  The  proposition  worked  two  ways, 
and  quite  naturally  Drake  chose  the  agreeable 
one.  He  began  to  pan  gravel  wherever  whim 
dictated. 

Night  found  him  facing  an  unpleasant  conviction 
— that  he  was  utterly  foolish  in  hoping  to  find  it 
right  on  the  surface.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  dig  again.  Well,  he  would  rest  to-morrow,  and 
the  day  after  he  would  renew  the  self-torture. 

But  on  the  morrow  he  could  not  rest,  though  he 
was  still  weary  and  sore.  His  very  lassitude  argued 
against  procrastination.  In  a  vague  way  he  feared 
that  the  hideous  thought,  lurking  just  at  the  rim  of 
his  consciousness,  might  overtake  him  before  suc- 
cess had  come.  Once  more  he  attacked  a  bank  of 
gravel  with  the  pick  and  shovel.  And  the  wearier 
he  grew,  the  more  he  felt  the  need  of  haste.  He 
could  not  argue  it  away,  try  as  he  would.  The  in- 
definite fear  dominated  him  through  three  terrible 
days. 

The  thud  of  the  pick  striking  bed  rock  in  the  late 
afternoon  of  the  third  day,  went  shuddering  through 


LIFE'S   LURE  65 

his  nerves.  Fortune  had  called  his  hand,  and  now 
for  the  showdown  I 

He  filled  the  pan  with  gravel  and  staggered  down 
to  the  creek  with  it.  Having  eliminated  half  the 
pebbles,  he  was  frightened  at  the  thought:  What  if 
there'd  be  nothing  in  this  too?  His  head  swam 
strangely,  his  muscles  throbbed  and  ached.  The 
hideous  thought  at  the  rim  of  his  consciousness 
seemed  about  to  break  through.  He  closed  his 
eyes  and  thought  a  prayer:  "God,  let  me  find  just  a 
very  little  in  this  pan!"  But  the  pan  washed  clean 
without  a  trace. 

Drake  sat  down  stunned,  staring  at  the  empty  pan 
which  he  gripped  tightly.  Finally  his  gaze  fell  upon 
his  hands,  blistered  and  swollen. 

Hands  for  dead  men's  pockets! 

The  scornful  words  of  the  old  man  at  Custer 
Creek  came  back  suddenly — like  so  many  dazing 
blows — and  the  hideous  lurking  thought  burst 
through  and  filled  his  consciousness.  With  a  groan 
he  fell  upon  his  face.  That  hell  of  hells,  brutal 
self-judgment,  raged  within  him. 

"It's  no  use — I'm  a  weakling!"  So  burst  the 
mental  storm  of  self-accusation.  "I'm  only  one  of 
the  world's  incapables — the  spoiled  child  of  Chance 
— petted  and  pampered  until  the  meanest  surpasses 
me  in  the  fight  to  live!  Oh,  my  God!"  he  groaned; 
"it  was  a  fool's  errand,  and  this  is  the  end  of  it. 
Why  wasn't  I  allowed  to  step  out  at  Sidney,  before 
I  had  seen  myself?" 


66  LIFE'S   LURE 

The  first  fury  of  the  mental  storm  abated,  and 
the  melancholy  sodden  downpour  of  self-deprecia- 
tion drenched  and  chilled  his  brain.  He  drew  forth 
a  small  pocket  revolver  and  regarded  it  unfeelingly. 
"Why  not?"  he  thought;  "the  world  won't  miss  a 
pair  of  white  hands." 

The  thought  of  Joy  filtered  through  the  gray 
mist,  but  it  was  so  vague  now  that  it  had  no  effect 
upon  him.  He  stared  into  the  muzzle  of  the  re- 
volver, and  wondered  what  would  happen  if  he 
pulled  the  trigger.  Would  it  be  like  a  sudden 
stifling  shower  of  soot,  and  then  nothing?  He 
shuddered. 

A  series  of  rasping  hee-haws,  softened  as  by  dis- 
tance, startled  Drake.  He  lifted  his  head,  feeling 
a  vague  apprehension  of  imminent  rescue.  Once 
more  the  far-flung  bray.  "Why,  it's  the  burro  I" 
he  thought  with  a  little  glimmer  of  hope,  incident  to 
the  memory  of  a  familiar  thing.  He  searched  the 
landscape  with  his  eyes. 

Far  up  at  the  rim  of  the  gulch,  etched  clearly 
against  the  evening  sky,  stood  Christmas,  delivering 
his  farewell  to  captivity.  Drake  remembered  hav- 
ing moved  the  burro  to  new  grazing  ground  that 
morning,  and  in  his  intense  preoccupation  with  the 
work  in  hand,  had  probably  driven  the  stake  inse- 
curely. 

//  you  get  lost,  follow  the  jackass!  Pete's  ad- 
vice returning,  took  on  a  new  meaning. 

Now  a  man,  temporarily  crazed  with  a  terrible 


LIFE'S   LURE  67 

thought,  may  plunge  recklessly  Into  the  sea;  but, 
one  minute  later  he  will  grasp  desperately  at  a 
straw;  and  especially.  If  that  straw  seems  about  to 
be  whisked  out  of  convenient  reaching  distance. 
Christmas,  bidding  a  raucous  farewell  at  the  high 
rim  of  the  gulch,  was  the  straw,  and  Drake,  true 
to  the  strongest  Instinct,  wanted  that  straw  very 
much.  In  extreme  fatigue,  the  shifting  of  the  men- 
tal balance  Is  Irrational  and  rapid;  and  fifteen  min- 
utes later,  as  Drake  scrambled  feebly  over  the  rim 
of  the  gulch,  a  vanishing  burro  was  the  matter  of 
supreme  Importance. 

A  wilderness  of  hills  rolled  away  on  every  side, 
blackening  with  the  shades  of  late  evening.  Drake 
thought  of  the  half-day's  journey  through  the  close 
underbrush,  and  the  thought  was  bewildering.  He 
had  pushed  on  merrily,  feeling  safe  In  the  burro's 
instinct.  First,  he  would  find  the  fortune,  and  the 
return  would  be  only  a  matter  of  giving  Christmas 
his  head,  as  suggested  by  Sandy  Pete.  Therefore 
It  was  with  a  glow  of  hope  that  Drake  spied  the 
burro  quietly  grazing  a  half-mile  away  on  the  far 
side  of  a  flower-sprinkled  upland.  He  raised  a  fee- 
ble voice,  calculated  to  coax  back  the  truant  beast. 

But  Christmas  had  had  quite  enough  of  captivity 
for  the  time  being.  He  raised  his  head,  turned  the 
long  ears  curiously  In  the  direction  of  Drake,  lifted 
his  nose  and  smote  the  quiet  evening  with  the  enig- 
matic utterance  of  his  kind — Is  It  laughter  or  mourn- 
ing?    Then,  having  delivered  his  declaration  of  In- 


68  LIFE'S   LURE 

dependence,  with  a  switch  of  the  tall,  he  set  off  at  a 
canter  in  the  direction  of  the  dense  jack  pines 
that  fringed  the  mountain  meadow.  With  a  sink- 
ing of  the  heart,  Drake,  still  panting,  but  now 
only  remotely  conscious  of  his  fatigue,  set  out  in 
pursuit. 

Christmas  reached  the  jack  pines  and  disap- 
peared. A  few  minutes  later,  Drake  entered  the 
thicket,  now  entirely  possessed  with  the  idea  that  he 
must  overtake  the  burro  in  the  shortest  possible 
time.  The  dense  undergrowth,  trodden  down  and 
displaced  by  the  passage  of  the  burro,  made  a  trail 
very  plain  to  see  but  very  hard  to  follow.  Drake 
struggled  on  for  a  considerable  time,  hoping  at 
every  moment  to  come  upon  Christmas. 

Finally,  with  a  shock  of  alarm,  he  was  aware  that 
night  was  upon  him,  it  having  grown  so  dusky  that 
he  could  no  longer  follow  the  trail.  A  panic  seized 
him.  The  loss  of  the  burro  being  now  beyond  ques- 
tion, he  felt  the  necessity  of  getting  back  to  camp. 
Once  outside  the  jack  pines,  it  would  be  easy  to 
find  the  gulch.  He  therefore  turned  back  and  pro- 
ceeded, with  all  the  haste  possible  in  his  state  of 
fatigue,  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  right  direc- 
tion. But  the  passage  of  a  burro  through  a  jack- 
pine  thicket  is  not  a  crow's  flight ! 

After  hours  of  struggling  through  dense  growths 
that  tore  his  clothes  and  scratched  his  face  and 
hands,  he  stopped  bewildered — and  fatigue  fas- 
tened on  him. 


LIFE'S   LURE  69 

Night  without  a  star  was  about  him.  Only  the 
eerie  moaning  of  the  breeze  Indicated  that  anything 
existed  In  all  the  world  but  Samuel  Drake  and  the 
darkness. 

''I  can't  go  on  to-night,"  he  thought,  and  sank 
down  In  the  pine  needles.  The  gulch  had  been  very 
hot  In  the  sun,  and  he  had  worked  In  his  shirt 
sleeves.  His  coat  had  been  left  behind.  The  sub- 
tle chill  of  the  high  altitude  crept  through  him,  but 
he  felt  It  only  as  an  unpleasant  portion  of  a  dream. 
He  huddled  up  Into  a  shivering  bunch  and  swooned 
Into  a  wintry  blackness  where  Icy  nothings  tortured 
him  ceaselessly. 

The  light  of  the  late  forenoon  aroused  him.  With 
some  effort,  he  opened  his  eyes  that  seemed  to  have 
been  glued  shut.  He  lay  for  some  time,  staring 
wonderlngly  about  him,  groping  in  his  mind,  mean- 
while, for  some  misplaced  fact. 

At  length  the  meaning  of  the  situation  came  to 
him.  He  had  lost  the  burro,  and  now  wondered  If 
he  could  ever  get  back  to  his  camp.  The  thought 
goaded  him,  and  he  tried  to  get  up.  The  night 
chill  had  stiffened  his  limbs,  and  the  first  attempt 
made  him  groan  and  fall  back.  It  was  only  after 
a  number  of  painful  efforts  that  he  succeeded  in 
rolling  onto  his  stomach  and  drawing  his  creaking 
knees  under  him.  He  sat  up.  "I've  caught  cold," 
he  thought;  "and  I  was  terribly  tired.  I  wonder  if 
I'll  ever  find  my  way." 

Now  the  thought  of  the  possibility  of  failure  Is  a 


70  LIFE'S   LURE 

powerful  stimulant  up  to  a  certain  point.  Drake 
got  to  his  feet,  seeming  to  break  his  joints  In  the  act. 
But  the  pain  only  emphasized  the  necessity  of 
moving  on;  and  he  went,  clinging  to  the  under- 
growth. 

After  hours  he  emerged  from  the  thicket — but 
not  into  the  mountain  meadow.  Huge  pine  trees 
soared  above  him,  and  all  about  him  was  the  hush 
of  a  windless  forest.  Where  was  he?  Had  he 
gone  In  the  opposite  direction  from  the  camp  In  the 
gulch?  Should  he  turn  back?  The  thought  was 
appalling.  He  shuddered  at  the  memory  of  the 
heart-breaking  struggle  through  the  underbrush.  At 
least,  the  forest  offered  easier  travel — and  he  might 
run  upon  some  placer  miner  if  he  could  only  keep 
going. 

So  he  abandoned  the  Idea  of  returning  to  his 
camp,  and  thought  wistfully  of  Bear  Gulch  and  Dev- 
lin. He  proceeded  at  a  painful,  halting  gait;  and 
the  day  passed.  In  the  passing,  It  had  seemed  an 
interminable  torture,  but  when  night  came,  he  mar- 
velled at  Its  early  coming. 

He  curled  up  beside  a  log,  and  as  he  was  swoon- 
ing into  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  he  thought:  "How 
warm  the  night  is !"  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  body 
was  wrapped  in  something  hot  and  throbbing.  Then 
Mrs.  Woollver  came  floating  right  ovei  him — a 
curious,  vapory  Mrs.  Woollver  that  expanded  and 
contracted  in  the  gust/^  hot  breeze  that  propelled 
her.     She  was  carrying  a  plate  of  something.  ^'Have 


LIFE'S   LURE  71 

another  biscuit — have  another  biscuit,^*  she  droned 
monotonously.  But  as  Drake  reached  out  a  heavy 
hand,  she  collapsed  like  a  punctured  wind  bag. 

But  she  expanded  again — only  this  time  she  was 
Louis  Devlin.  He  had  a  sack  in  his  hand.  ^^Have 
a  little  more  gold — have  a  little  more  gold'^  he 
chanted.  And  when  Drake  reached  for  the  sack,  it 
was  a  huge  biscuit — only  it  was  so  very  hot  that  he 
couldn't  eat  it. 

And  Drake  was  staring  at  the  tree-tops  glowing 
with  broad  day.  "I  wonder  If  the  forest  Is  on  fire 
— it's  so  hot,"  he  thought.  He  lay  turning  over  the 
meaning  of  the  self-propounded  query,  until  It  grew 
into  a  fear  that  goaded  him  until  he  got  up,  stagger- 
ing. No,  the  forest  wasn't  on  fire;  but  the  trees 
were  dim  and  had  a  troublesome  way  of  dancing 
about.  This  undeniable  fact  made  It  hard  to  miss 
them  as  he  went  on;  for  the  trunks  often  deliberately 
shifted  Into  his  path  when  it  was  very  plain  to  him 
that  he  had  steered  clear  of  them. 

The  drumming  in  his  ears  repeated  Mrs.  Wooll- 
ver's  words:  ^*JVon^t  you  have  another  cup  of  cof- 
feer 

There !  That  was  what  was  wrong  with  him ! 
He  needed  some  coffee  to  drink!  Among  all  the 
shifting  things  of  the  unsteady  world,  he  clenched 
that  fact  so  that  it  couldn't  dance  about !  Alluring 
visions  of  cool  coffee  brooks,  gurgling  over  pebbles, 
began  to  haunt  him.  What^^was  wrong  about  it — 
something    was    wrong    ab^t    the    Idea !     Coffee 


72  LIFE'S   LURE 

brooks — cofee  brooks!  He  repeated  the  words 
until  they  hadn't  any  significance  at  all. 

And  then — it  seemed  quite  suddenly — he  was  at 
the  brink  of  a  little  rill.  Getting  down  carefully, 
he  discovered  that  the  water  was  arising  to  meet 
him.  It  struck  him  in  the  face — a  rather  hard 
blow.  And  then  he  drank  long — such  deep 
draughts  of  pure  cold  happiness  I  The  trees  were 
considerably  less  troublesome  for  a  while  after  that. 

Only,  now  as  he  travelled  down  the  channel  of 
the  rill,  he  became  conscious  of  a  leaden  weight  at 
his  stomach.  He  pondered  the  matter  with  some 
interest.  He  reached  no  decision  in  the  matter, 
however.  Instead,  he  began  to  smell  sow-belly  fry- 
ing. All  the  world  was  filled  with  the  alluring 
scent  of  it.  Things  had  become  very  uncertain  once 
more ;  but  now,  the  motion  was  not  sidewise.  Things 
went  up  and  down.  The  rocky  bed  of  the  rill  which 
he  followed,  rose  and  fell  in  billows  like  water  in 
wind.  It  was  very  hard  to  accommodate  his  steps 
to  the  capricious  trail.  Sometimes  the  earth  met 
his  foot  too  soon,  and  sometimes  it  dropped  away 
suddenly.  Once  it  sank  into  a  yawning  gulf  into 
which  he  tumbled  pell-mell,  only  to  find  the  gulf  sud- 
denly rising  to  meet  him  much  more  than  half  way. 
He  got  to  his  hands  and  knees  and  waited  for  the 
disturbance  to  subside. 

Meanwhile,  he  stared  at  the  gravel.  *'If  I  only 
had  my  pan  I  might  find  sow-belly  right  here,"  he 
thought.     "Sow-belly  is  where  you  find  it."     But 


LIFE'S   LURE  73 

some  remote  corollary  of  the  thought  was  so  terri- 
fying that  he  began  to  crawl  away  from  the  place. 
He  could  steady  the  earth  much  better  when  he 
crawled. 

That  night  was  a  momentary  shadow,  and  once 
more  Drake  was  crawling  down  the  bed  of  the  rill. 
The  world  was  hot  and  close,  like  a  great  oven  in 
which  delicious  biscuits  were  baking. 

Drake  blinked  at  a  nebulous  woman's  face,  self- 
existent  in  the  empyrean.  Slowly  the  fiery  mist 
cleared  away  and  it  was  Mrs.  Wooliver's  face. 

"I  wonder  when  she'll  collapse,"  he  thought.  But 
she  didn't  collapse;  she  actually  spoke  real  words. 
They  came  softly  from  a  great  distance:  "Here's 
some  broth  for  you ;  it'll  make  you  strong." 

"Now  she'll  collapse,"  thought  Drake;  but  she 
remained  steadily  there  in  her  empyrean.  He  felt 
his  head  lifted,  and  a  liquid  soothing  joy  flowed  Into 
him.  "Now  you  must  sleep,"  said  the  face.  Then 
there  was  a  space  of  dreamless  nothing — and  once 
more  he  was  looking  upon  a  face.  This  time  it  was 
Louis  Devlin's. 

"Will  you  have  some  broth  now?"  said  Devlin. 

As  Drake  stared,  the  haziness  dropped  away 
from  things,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  lying  in  bed 
in  a  log  house.  The  chinks  in  the  logs  were  very 
plain.  He  could  hear  a  clock  ticking,  louder  than 
a  clock  should  tick.  Sunlight  came  through  an  open 
window  and  fell  across  his  bed. 


74  LIFERS   LURE 

"I — I  just  had  some,"  said  Drake;  "I  want  a  bis- 
cuit." 

"You  had  some  yesterday  morning,"  laughed 
Devlin.  "Say,  Sam,  don't  you  know  it  isn't  well- 
bred  to  crawl?" 

"Crawl?"  echoed  Drake,  feeling  about  for  the 
significance;  yet  something  in  the  jovial  tone  of  Dev- 
lin stimulated  him. 

"Yes — crawl!  Perfectly  boorish,  you  know; 
shocking,  in  the  extreme.  Some  of  the  boys  found 
you  a  week  ago  crawling  on  all  fours  down  Potato 
Gulch,  and  brought  you  over  here,  muttering  some 
nonsense  about  biscuits.  They  couldn't  recall  the 
exact  statements,  but  I  surmised  that  you  had  been 
indulging  in  a  distinctly  middle-class  conversation 
with  yourself!     Aren't  you  properly  ashamed?" 

It  began  to  come  back  to  Drake — the  pieced-up 
picture  of  the  half-forgotten  nightmare. 

"Oh,  Louis — my  God! — don't  make  a  joke  of  it 
— it  was  terrible — I  had  been  looking  into  my 
sack " 

"For  hot  biscuits?"  interrupted  Devlin. 

"There  now!"  chided  Ma  Wooliver  as  she  en- 
tered the  room.  "You've  gone  and  worked  your 
pardner  all  up!  You  poor  boy!"  she  cooed,  strok- 
ing Drake's  forehead;  "I've  got  some  nice  things 
cooked  up  for  you,  and  you're  getting  on  fine." 

"Oh  Mrs.  Wooliver,  how  beautiful  you  are!" 
said  Drake,  kissing  the  toil-scarred  hands. 


VII 


Drake  sat  in  Mrs.  Woollver's  best  easy  chair, 
gazing  out  the  open  window.  The  gentle  languor 
of  convalescence,  so  conducive  to  calm  musing,  was 
upon  him.  A  man  who  has  finally  been  forced  to 
abandon  his  long-cherished  Ideals  and,  Incidentally, 
to  confess  to  himself — the  most  terrible  confession 
— his  incapability,  may  allow  himself  the  final  lux- 
ury of  self-pity,  and  In  the  ecstasy  of  it,  shoot  him- 
self. Egoism  thwarting  its  own  purpose!  But  if 
that  man  is  at  once  hurried  into  contact  with  one  of 
the  natural  enemies  of  life — hunger,  for  instance — 
he  will  fight  hard,  and  having  won,  he  will  cherish 
life  as  never  before. 

It  was  so  with  Drake.  Gold,  and  its  attendant 
luxuries,  seemed  little  to  him  now  in  comparison 
with  mere  life  won  by  the  long  feverish  fight  against 
starvation  and  fatigue. 

*'It's  the  first  thing  I've  earned  so  far,  according 
to  Louis,"  he  mused;  "and  it's  a  good  beginning." 

From  the  calm  vantage  point  of  his  convalescence, 
he  looked  two  ways.  In  one  direction  was  the  old 
world  of  magic,  wherein  one  wrote  on  crisp  paper, 
in  the  cabalism  of  dollars  and  cents,  the  tale  of  one's 

75 


76  LIFE'S   LURE 

present  desires,  and — presto!  the  intricate  social 
system  responded  with  necessities  and  luxuries !  In 
the  other  direction  was  the  new  world,  without  a 
miracle  in  it;  a  world  in  which  cause  and  effect  went 
visibly  connected;  where  one  should  also  express 
one's  desires,  only  to  be  confronted  with  the  inevit- 
able question — What  have  you  done? 

Well,  what  should  he  do?  He  calmly  put  the 
question  to  himself.  Of  course,  he  had  jumped  to 
an  absurd  conclusion  that  evening  just  before  Christ- 
mas had  bolted.  One  might  not  have  a  fortune,  and 
yet  one  might  be  respectable.  It  was  fatuous  of 
him  to  think  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  earn  his 
living  like  John  Jones — with  a  pick  and  shovel.  Fa- 
tigue and  discouragement  had  evidently  done  Samuel 
Drake's  thinking  for  him  that  evening.  There  was 
a  great  middle  class,  respectable  no  doubt  in  its  way; 
and  certainly  a  gentleman  of  fallen  fortune  could 
find  a  ready  place  in  that  class.  For  instance,  one 
might  become  a  bank  clerk.  Old  influential  friends 
might  gladly  aid  one  in  getting  established.  Gen- 
erosity is  never  stronger  than  when  a  former  In- 
ferior suddenly  finds  it  in  his  power  to  demonstrate 
his  new  superiority  by  giving  aid ! 

And  Joy?  Drake  felt  safe  in  her  love.  She 
would  in  time  adapt  herself  to  the  new  world.  He 
felt  a  twinge  of  sorrow  at  the  instantly  rejected 
mental  picture  of  her  in  a  kitchen  apron!  Here 
Devlin  entered  with  a  care-free,  smiling  counte- 
nance. 


LIFE'S   LURE  77 

"Hello,  Sam!"  said  he;  "how's  the  convalescent 
— or  perhaps  I  should  say  'the  biscuit  eater'  1" 

"The — what?"  questioned  Drake,  feeling  the  de- 
pression, incident  to  the  thought  of  Joy  in  a  kitchen 
apron,  passing  away  before  the  temperamental 
buoyancy  of  his  friend. 

"Why,  you've  acquired  notoriety  under  the  name, 
*Ma  Wooliver's  biscuit  eater' !  That  vaudeville 
stunt  of  yours  up  Potato  Gulch,  you  know!  It  cre- 
ated a  real  sensation.  What  a  comedian  was  lost 
in  the  making  of  a  gentleman  of  leisure!" 

"Comedian?"  Drake  questioned  with  a  perplexed 
frown.     "It  was  comedy  to  them?" 

"Dear  old  Sam,"  broke  in  Devlin,  "you've  a  pre- 
cious wooden  head  on  your  shoulders!  Don't  you 
know  that  the  funniest  person  in  the  world  is  the 
man  too  perceptibly  in  earnest?  The  supreme  come- 
dian is  the  man  who  feels  tragic  and  betrays  the 
fact!  The  hunchback  has  ever  been  the  ideal  jester. 
But  that's  almost  metaphysics!  And  by  the  way, 
you  found  a  champion  in  Sandy  Pete  of  bloody 
memory,  I  understand.  Pete's  a  gun-man,  you 
know — hair-trigger  sort  of  chap;  that  is  to  say,  the 
genuine  blond  raised  to  the  wth  power.  When  the 
burro  came  back  without  you,  Monte  Joe  made  a 
remark  about  only  one  jackass  getting  back.  The 
quotation  is  literal.  But  a  second  later,  he  was  eat- 
ing his  words  under  the  frown  of  Pete's  guns.  You 
see,  you're  a  sort  of  protege  of  Ma  Wooliver's,  and 
Pete's  fierce  heart  Is  turned  toward  her.    So  you've 


78  LIFE'S   LURE 

got  a  standing  army  ready  made.  Isn't  that  regal 
enough  for  your  most  purple  whim?" 

"I'm  hardly  In  a  mood  to  joke  to-day,  Louis," 
said  Drake. 

"What  Is  It — In  need  of  some  more  of  the  uni- 
versal solvent,  are  you?  Then  why  don't  you  speak 
up?     What's  a  friend  for?" 

Devlin  pulled  a  leather  sack  from  his  pocket, 
loosened  the  draw  string,  and  taking  off  his  hat, 
poured  Into  It  a  small  hoard  of  nuggets. 

"Don't  let  your  eyes  get  hungry  looking  like  that, 
Sam — they're  positively  wolfish!  Help  yourself 
quite  freely.  God  knows  I  would  help  myself  to 
your  very  heart's  blood,  If  I  had  a  hunger  only  to 
be  satisfied  In  that  way!" 

"O  Louis,"  said  Drake,  gazing  upon  his  friend 
with  moist  eyes;  "you  are  too  generous.  You  be- 
little yourself  that  your  giving  may  seem  selfish. 
And  I  love  you  for  It,  Louis.  But  I  cannot  go  on 
taking  forever.  At  Sidney  I  entered  a  terrible 
school,  and  now  the  course  Is  finished.  I  have 
looked  Into  my  sack,  and  It  Is  already  too  full  of 
debt.  I  have  enough  left  from  the  Sidney  loan  to 
take  me  back  East — just  about  enough.  I  shall  get 
a  modest  position,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  you 
In  time." 

Devlin  laughed  merrily. 

"What  a  consistent  comedian  you  are,  Sam !"  he 
said  at  length.  "There  Is  no  debt  between  friends. 
It's  a  matter  of  giving  and  taking  and  no  book- 


LIFE'S   LURE  79 

keeping.  Am  I  not  to  be  the  judge  of  what  I  re- 
ceive from  you?  And  as  for  this  handful  of  nug- 
gets— what  do  I  care  for  it?  I  have  expressed  my- 
self perfectly  in  getting  it.  Since  I  do  not  need  it, 
its  value  to  me  is  nothing.  And  I  have  given  noth- 
ing for  it.  You  would  have  gathered  it  up  in  high 
glee  if  you  had  found  it  in  a  creek  bed — now 
wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Drake,  "but  that  madness  has 
passed  away  from  me.  I  do  not  want  luxury  now. 
During  those  awful  days  in  the  forest,  some  great 
impenetrable  curtain  dropped  behind  me.  I  do  not 
even  desire  the  luxury  of  death.  I  cannot  afford  to 
die  so  much  in  debt.  Hereafter  I  shall  try  to  fit 
into  the  social  scheme  midway  between  the  two 
vicious  extremes — the  aristocrat  and  the  pauper; 
for  both  are  takers,  morally  the  same." 

"The  smug  philosophy  of  the  Bourgeoisie  I" 
laughed  Devlin;  "and,  incidentally,  mighty  good 
comedy!  But,  my  dear  Sam,  you  are  launching  a 
paper  boat  upon  the  Sea  of  Eternal  Truth;  whereas 
this  is  notoriously  a  world  of  bare  facts.  Some- 
times I  get  that  way  myself,  and  I  sympathize  with 
you.  It's  a  form  of  mental  auto-intoxication,  due  to 
cerebral  indigestion  of  fine  sentiments!  You  are 
fundamentally  correct  as  to  the  safety  of  the  middle 
course;  but  your  deduction  is  not  consequent  to  the 
premises.  This  is  a  world  in  which  it  is  fatal  to  be 
either  too  fat  or  too  lean.  One  smothers  or 
starves    at   the    extremes.     Therefore,    I    do    not 


8o  LIFE'S   LURE 

merely  receive — which  ends  in  death  by  fatness;  nor 
do  I  merely  give — which  is  starvation.  /  take.  I 
am  not  so  much  a  man  as  a  force  of  Nature.  I  am 
fully  aware  that  sometime  I  shall  come  up  against 
the  supreme  force  of  Nature — the  arch  gambler — 
and  I  shall  play  my  hand  and  lose  without  too  much 
personal  feeling  in  the  matter.  But  I  win  while  I 
can,  Sam;  for  by  and  by  I'll  sit  staring  at  a  royal 
flush  across  the  table,  with  only  a  dirty  little  pair  of 
deuces  in  my  hand.  And  then — off  to  bed,  Sam! 
And  what's  the  moral  of  it  all?  Hold  the  royal 
flush! 

"Well,  I  am  holding  it,  Sam;  and  I  intend  that 
you  also  shall  hold  it.  At  present,  I  do  it  by  min- 
ing the  miners."  He  poured  the  nuggets  back  into 
the  sack.  "A  dozen  picks  might  plug  away  a  month, 
a  year,  ten  years  for  that,  and  fail  to  get  it.  Who's 
hurt?  No  one!  Not  even  I  am  hurt,  because  it 
doesn't  madden  me.  I  got  it  and  afterward  I  felt 
sleepy.  It  would  have  made  any  one  of  them  mad. 
You  see,  I  am  only  a  sort  of  moral  phlebotomist; 
I  bleed  them  for  their  souls'  good.  Now  they'll  go 
on — still  go  on  trying,  and  so  keep  lean  and  capable 
— no  fat  on  their  hearts,  you  know ! 

*'You  made  the  mistake  of  starting  out  with  tools 
too  rude — a  pick  and  a  shovel.  You  failed;  and 
failing,  you  fell  back  into  moral  philosophy — the 
last  infirmity  of  failure.  Now  there  is  no  richer 
mine  in  this  world  for  the  competent  miner,  than  the 
asininity  of  men.     Locate  the  vein  of  the  biggest 


LIFE'S   LURE  8i 

folly — feed  the  master  hunger.  Let  the  other  fel- 
low hold  the  deuces,  Sam.  Deuces  look  well  in 
gnarled  hands!    But  you  and  I ? 

"Well,  Sam,  you'll  never  make  a  gambler — ^just 
as  you  would  never  make  a  surgeon.  You  would 
always  be  wondering  how  it  was  hurting  the  other 
fellow.  That  is,  you  are  a  dear,  wooden-headed 
egotist,  always  applying  the  personal  standard — al- 
ways projecting  your  own  personality  into  things. 
It's  the  highest  moral  form  of  selfishness,  and  so, 
commendable  in  its  way.  But  one  gets  one's  per- 
sonality sorely  bruised  by  poking  it  about  in  odd 
places. 

"Now  I  have  it  all  figured  out  for  you,  Sam.  The 
King  Nugget  Saloon  is  for  sale,  and  I  have  an  option 
on  it.  Proprietor  has  gone  gold  mad;  wants  to  go 
over  to  Black  Tail  and  dig  a  cool  million  out  of  the 
ground.  And,  having  a  sure  thing  over  there,  as  is 
the  rule,  he  will  sell  at  a  reasonable  figure.  It's  a 
fat  proposition.  Gold  dust  pours  in  by  the  hatful. 
Now  I've  planned  to  buy  the  business  and  give  you 
full  swing  on  half  profits.  Mind  you,  it's  a  pat 
hand  I'm  dealing  you,  and  if  you  don't  stay  I'll  be 
disappointed.     How  does  it  strike  you?" 

A  silence  fell.  Drake  stared  out  the  window  and 
mentally  examined  the  proposition.  The  more  he 
thought  of  it,  the  more  it  repelled  him.  His  thin 
lips  lifted  with  disgust. 

"Well,"  said  Louis  at  length;  "the  bid's  up  to 
you,  and  you've  got  a  pat  hand — ^ — :" 


82  LIFE'S   LURE 

'Tm  sorry,  Louis,"  Drake  began  slowly;  "Fm 
sorry  to  appear  ungrateful;  but  I  can't  stay  for  this 
hand.     I  can't  do  it." 

"Objection  to  dirty  money,  eh?"  laughed  Devlin. 
"Then  you'll  have  to  take  to  the  savage  life,  I'm 
afraid.  Do  you  imagine  that  you  have  ever  han- 
dled a  clean  dollar?  And  it  would  be  only  for  a 
year  at  most.  One  year  as  proprietor  of  the  King 
Nugget,  and  you  could  go  back  to  the  old  life " 

"Louis,"  Drake  broke  in,  his  face  flushing,  "do 
you  think  I  could  go  back  to  her  after  having  been  a 
saloon-keeperf* 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Sam" — Devlin  interrupted,  ig- 
noring the  outburst  of  disgust — "I  brought  a  letter 
over  to  you — came  by  to-day's  stage — I  had  almost 
forgotten  the  very  thing  that  brought  me  over! 
Here  it  is — a  sweet-scented,  feminine  little  thing." 

He  drew  a  small  blue  envelope  from  his  pocket. 
Drake  grasped  it  eagerly.  "It's  from  my  wife," 
he  said;  "the  first  since  I  left.  Pardon  me  while  I 
read  it." 

The  note  was  in  answer  to  his  Sidney  letter,  and 
ran  as  follows: 

"Sam  dearest:  I  have  but  a  few  minutes  before 

dressing  to  go  with  G to  the  opera.    It's  Faust 

to-night.  But  I  want  to  answer  your  letter  just  the 
same,  and  tell  you  what  a  state  of  mind  it  put  me  in  I 
Just  think  of  it,  dearest!  I  had  set  my  heart  on  a 
sweet — oh  the  sweetest  opera  cloak!     It  was  your 


LIFE'S  LURE  83 

favorite  color;  and  best  of  all  it  had  a  wide  collar 
of  Venetian  lace  to  set  it  off — and  Marie  says  I 
looked  a  dream  in  it !  It  was  a  Worth  model,  you 
know.  I  wanted  it  like  everything,  and  was  looking 
forward  eagerly  to  my  next  allowance.  And  then, 
after  waiting  a  week,  your  blue  letter  came  and — 
well,  you  know,  Sam,  the  sum  you  sent  would  barely 
cover  my  expenses  and  pay  Marie.  So  I  just  sat 
down  and  cried.  Must  dress  now;  so  with  a  hug 
and  kiss — your  loving  wife, 

Joy. 

"P.S.  I  almost  forgot,  dearest!  Fm  so  sorry 
about  your  hard  times.  What  a  horrid  place  Sidney 
must  be !  But  by  now  you  must  have  found  a  lot  of 
gold.  I  wish  you  would  think  about  the  cloak, 
dearest — when  you  send  my  next  allowance. — ^J." 

Drake  sat  staring  blankly  at  the  page  after  he  had 
finished  reading  it.  The  great  impenetrable  curtain 
had  lifted  again.  His  temples  throbbed,  and  he  felt 
feverish. 

''Oh,  Louis,  my  friend,''  he  said  at  last,  "what 
have  I  been  saying  to  you? — some  nonsense,  no 
doubt.  But  really,  Louis,  I'm  not  quite  myself — not 
quite  well  yet.  I'll  accept  the  proposition.  When 
can  I  take  charge?  You  are  so  generous !  How  can 
I  ever  repay  you  ?  And  Louis,  I — I  do  need  a  loan 
— very  badly — sickness  in  the  family,  you  know!" 


PART    II 


One  evening  In  early  June,  the  Deadwood  stage 
thundered  down  the  hill  into  Bear  Gulch  and 
stopped  In  front  of  the  ''King  Nugget  Saloon."  A 
tenderfoot  stepped  out.  By  way  of  impedimenta 
he  had  with  him  an  old-fashioned  valise  and  some 
preconceived  Ideas  of  the  West.  The  latter  were 
plainly  evidenced  to  the  loungers  in  front  of  the 
saloon  by  the  stranger's  general  appearance. 

He  wore  leather  breeches  of  a  very  wicked 
"Western"  cut,  slashed  Into  fringe  at  the  side 
seams;  a  pair  of  exaggerated  plainsman's  boots,  and 
a  buckskin  coat,  though  the  evening  sun  still  shone 
hot.  About  his  middle  hung  a  belt  containing  many 
rounds  of  cartridges,  and  two  nice  shiny  revolvers. 

No  doubt  he  had  his  role  well  thought  out,  and  so 
made  his  entrance  In  the  costume  of  the  part.  But 
all  these  trappings  were  so  obstreperously  new!  It 
seemed  that  a  careful  scrutiny  might  reveal  the  pen- 
cilled selling  price  and  the  cabalistic  cost  mark  of 
some  Omaha  outfitter. 

85 


86  LIFE'S   LURE 

One  might  easily  find  a  description  of  him  from 
his  neck  down  in  almost  any  of  those  highly  imagi- 
native stories  that  deal  with  the  Wild  Bill  type. 
But  for  a  description  of  him  from  his  neck  up — well, 
one  would  be  obliged  to  read  pastoral  poetry,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  The  spirit  of  the  country,  with 
all  that  means,  was  in  his  face.  His  eyes  were  clear 
and  guileless — like  June  skies  over  green  wheat 
fields — and  his  cheeks  suggested  Rambo  apples, 
slowly  tinting  in  the  sun. 

At  first  sight,  one  might  have  thought:  *'Here  is 
one  who  has  listened  much  to  the  tinkle  of  cow-bells 
floating  up  green  draws,  and  dreamed  big  dreams  In 
the  hush  of  the  harvest  nights."  And  then,  looking 
a  second  time,  one  might  have  seen,  in  spite  of  the 
heroic  effort  at  a  swagger,  that  he  had  not  yet  out- 
grown his  mother! 

Now  an  exchange  of  cards  was  not  one  of  the 
formalities  of  Bear  Gulch  society.  When  any  new- 
comer, drawn  by  the  far-flung  lure  of  easy  wealth, 
crossed  the  divide  and  entered  the  raggedy  little 
town  scattered  along  Bear  Creek,  at  that  moment 
his  name  dropped  away  from  him — as  flesh  from  a 
soul  at  the  threshold  of  another  world.  Bear  Gulch 
looked  upon  the  world  as  a  heterogeneous  mass  of 
floating  units,  and  the  salient  characteristic  of  the 
unit  readily  suggested  the  name. 

So  when  the  very  young  man  stepped  out  of  the 
stage.  Bear  Gulch,  released  from  pick  and  shovel 
and  pan  for  the  day,  scrutinized  this  latest  candi- 


LIFE'S   LURE  87 

date  for  cognominal  honors  with  a  keen  eye  for  the 
dominant  personal  note.  And  that  note  was  bla- 
tantly evident;  as  much  so  as  the  too  strenuous 
booming  of  a  bass  drum  among  the  soft-voiced 
flutes  of  a  pastoral  melody.  He  was  patently  coun- 
try-made. 

Monte  Joe,  the  three-card  man,  lounging  on  the 
front  stoop,  made  this  entry  In  his  mental  note- 
book: ^'Greenhorn — will  go  heavy  on  a  sure  thing." 

A  claim  shark,  standing  In  the  door  of  the  saloon, 
made  a  tentative  entry  on  the  debit  side  of  his  men- 
tal cash  book. 

And  Placer  Nell,  leaning  languidly  out  of  a  win- 
dow of  the  Bonanza  Dance  Hall,  gaudily  dressed 
and  waiting  for  the  evening's  traffic  to  begin,  re- 
garded the  lad  under  drooping  lids,  and  smiled  at 
the  pleasant  prospect  of  a  new  sensation.  ''Say, 
Joe,"  she  called  softly  to  the  gambler  on  the  stoop, 
"how  do  you  like  my  new  beau?" 

"Who's  that?"  growled  Joe,  already  deep  in  a 
prospective  campaign  against  the  greenhorn. 

"Why,  Punkins  that  just  drove  up  and  hitched! 
Tm  thinking  of  taking  to  a  quiet  country  life,  and 
Punkins  is  my  man!" 

The  new-comer  had  been  branded  Ineradlcably. 
Henceforth,  he  would  be  called  Punkins ;  the  leading 
lady  of  Bear  Gulch  social  circles  having  spoken. 

Punkins  smiled  boyishly  as  he  pushed  through  the 
bevy  of  loungers  and  entered  the  bar  room.  Some- 
how, his  smile  suggested  sweet  cider  and  heaped-up 


88  LIFE'S   LURE 

apples  and  simple  folk  sitting  about  open  fireplaces 
when  the  first  nip  of  frost  Is  abroad  In  the  night. 
He  passed  among  the  gamblers  at  the  tables  with  a 
forced  nonchalant  air,  as  though  he  had  not  then 
looked  upon  such  for  the  first  time  In  his  life.  When 
he  ordered  whiskey  at  the  bar,  his  voice  was  quite 
gruff.  The  horses  down  on  the  farm  would  have 
pricked  up  curious  ears  at  the  sound  of  it,  and  the 
cows  would  have  mistaken  It  for  the  voice  of  a 
stranger. 

A  guttural  mirth  grew  up  In  the  bar-room,  and 
the  loungers  and  gamblers  crowded  about  the  bar 
to  have  a  look  at  this  latest  type.  But  Punklns  was 
too  busy  getting  his  first  drink  of  whiskey  down  his 
throat  to  notice  the  nudges  that  went  round  at  his 
expense.  The  unaccustomed  drink  gagged  him  a  bit, 
and  he  was  thinking,  with  a  little  twinge  of  shame, 
of  a  certain  promise  made  to  his  mother.  But  moth- 
ers, perhaps,  really  never  understand  the  ways  of 
men.  Still — warm,  fresh  milk  and  the  water  from 
the  spring  that  bubbled  out  under  the  old  oak  back 
home  were  really  better  drinks.  So  Punklns  didn't 
order  a  second. 

Monte  Joe  shouldered  his  way  to  Punklns.  *'How 
was  crops  when  you  left?"  he  inquired,  carefully 
picking  an  Imaginary  hayseed  from  the  stranger's 
hair.     "Was  punklns  big  this  year?" 

This  warmed  the  heart  of  the  lad.  Although  he 
could  not  quite  confess  it  to  himself,  he  felt  a  gnaw- 
ing at  his  breast  when  he  thought  of  home.     The 


LIFE'S   LURE  89 

world  was  really  so  much  broader  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. Crops?  Here  was  a  subject  for  talk!  Oh, 
he  knew  all  about  crops !  Corn  didn't  promise  very 
well  that  year.  He  thought,  however,  that  wheat 
would  go  fifteen  bushels.  Rye  was  not  so  good 
somehow — danged  If  he  knew  why!  Of  course,  he 
was  talking  about  crops  around  Johnson  Corners — 
Johnson  Corners,  Indlany. 

"Give  this  gentleman  another  one  on  me,"  said 
Joe;  "and  make  it  three  fingers  of  whiskey.  He 
don't  drink  nothin'  but  whiskey !  How  was  all  the 
folks  down  on  the  farm,  anyway?" 

No,  thanks,  ever  so  much — Punkins  didn't  want 
any  more  whiskey  just  then;  really  he  didn't  want  a 
bit  more.  He  rarely  drank  more  than  a  glass  at  a 
time.  But  he  would  take  some  cider — now  there 
was  a  drink — cider!  Wasn't  it?  What  did  Monte 
Joe  think  of  cider  as  a  drink?  There  being  no  cider 
handy,  Punkins  was  obdurate  as  to  the  whiskey. 
But  he  did  want  to  talk  about  the  folks. 

A  few  minutes  later  an  Impromptu  entertainment 
was  in  progress,  and  Punkins,  exuberant  with  the 
wine  of  his  youth — aided,  no  doubt,  by  the  whiskey 
— was  the  unconscious  source  of  mirth.  Lounging 
upon  a  bench  in  what  he  deemed  to  be  a  devil-may- 
care  attitude,  his  hat  cocked  upon  one  ear,  he  held 
forth  pompously  upon  the  triune  subject  of  his  past, 
present  and  future. 

The  folks  had  moved  to  town,  you  know.  The 
folks  were  his  mother  and  Jane.     Jane,  of  course, 


90  LIFE'S   LURE 

was  his  sister.  You'd  ought  to  hear  her  play  on  the 
organ!  The  old  man — he  used  the  expression  with 
an  effort  at  worldliness — the  old  man  had  been  dead 
five  years  come  that  fall.  You  see,  the  old  farm 
had  been  sold  that  spring.  A  man  couldn't  be  tied 
down  to  a  plow  all  his  life.  There  wasn't  money 
enough  in  it,  you  know.  A  man  had  to  get  out  into 
the  world  and  do  things. 

The  liquor  and  the  good  nature  of  his  audience 
warmed  him  up,  and  he  became  diffusive.  The 
mother  grew  up  very  plainly — for  youth  is  naturally 
eloquent  upon  some  themes — her  patient  face  be- 
coming seamed  with  worries,  the  lips  etched  with 
thin  lines — a  kind  face,  wistfully  hopeful.  Jane, 
also,  was  very  vividly  set  forth — a  plain  country 
lass  wearing  her  first  shoe-top  dresses  I 

"And  I  just  says  to  him,"  Punkins  ran  on,  sin- 
gling out  old  Sandy  Pete  for  the  special  recipient  of 
his  confidences — "I  just  says  to  old  Bill  Haines;  'I'll 
go  home  to  roost,  will  I  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
placer  minin'?'  (Punkins  pronounced  placer  with  a 
long  "a").  What  do  you  know  about  placer  min- 
in', Bill  Haines?  W'y,  you'll  be  swillin'  hogs  and 
jumpin'  clods  yet  when  I'm  a-ridin'  in  my  carriage,' 
I  says.  And  dag  on  me,  it's  so — ain't  it?  But  it 
wasn't  Bill  Haines  and  the  like  that  I  cared  about. 
It  was  Mother  and  Jane.  They  says  to  me,  Tou'd 
better  leave  well  enough  alone.'  You  know  how 
women  folks  is.  They  ain't  no  idee  of  a  man's  git- 
up  and  ginger.    Wanted  me  to  stick  like  a  cockle 


LIFE'S  LURE  91 

burr  to  that  little  old  forty !  Even  went  so  far  as  to 
have  old  Deacon  Brown  In  to  argy  me  into  stayin'. 
But  it  didn't  do  no  good.  I  just  up  and  told  the 
Deacon:  'You  stick  to  your  lambs  and  see  that  the 
devil  don't  git  'em,'  I  says;  'and  look  after  the 
Dorcas  Soci'ty;  but  I'm  a-goin'  West,  and  you!ll  be 
goin'  from  house  to  house  a-prayin'  for  a  chicken 
dinner  when  Mother  and  Jane  and  me  is  ridin'  in 
our  carriage,'  I  says.  And  then  he  prayed  some 
more  about  prodigals  and  husks  that  the  pigs 
wouldn't  eat,  and  said  amen  and  got  up  and  dusted  I 

"And  then  Mother  and  Jane  had  cryin'  spells,  like 
women  folks  will,  and  throwed  father  at  me,  what 
a  good  steady  man  he  was;  and  they  said  they  could 
just  see  him  frownin'  out  of  heaven  at  me  'cause  of 
what  I  was  goin'  to  do.  But  I  just  says :  'Ma,  if  I 
ain't  smarter'n  Pa  what  was  the  use  of  me  bein' 
horned  anyway?'  Pa  was  about  the  best  man  that 
ever  was.  When  he  died,  you'd  ought  to  seen  the 
fun'rall  The  richest  folks  in  all  the  country  was 
there,  all  dressed  up.  But  Pa  hadn't  no  idee  above 
readin'  his  Bible  and  grubbin'  stumps.  He  was  al- 
ways talkin'  in  his  gentle  way  about  layin'  up  treas- 
ures in  heaven.  And  I  just  says  to  Ma,  gentle  as  I 
could;  *Ma,  I  reckon  Pa's  treasures  ought  to  keep 
us  quite  a  spell  after  we're  dead,  but  I'm  goin'  to 
lay  up  some  while  we're  livin',  by  jing!  And  one 
of  these  times  you  and  Jane'll  be  bossin'  a  hired  girl, 
just  like  ladies  in  a  story  book,'  I  says. 

"And  Ma  stopped  cryin'  by  and  by  and  sort  of 


92  LIFE'S   LURE 

brightened  up  and  says  to  Jane:  *Lawsy,  Jane,  do 
you  reckon  we'd  know  what  to  do  with  a  hired  girl?' 
And  then  we  got  to  jokin',  and  Ma  rubbed  the  tears 
out  of  her  eyes  and  says:  'Son,  you  know  I  don't 
want  to  be  V  mean.  I'm  just  so  'fraid;  and  I  de- 
clare, when  I  lay  awake  of  nights  and  ^ee  you  way 
out  there  among  strange  men — some  of  'em  bad 
likely  as  not — my  heart  just  comes  up  in  my  mouth. 
But  I  guess  we'll  let  the  old  farm  go  for  what  it'll 
bring,  and  Jane  and  me  can  work.' 

"And  so  I  just  set  about  and  sold  the  forty.  Got 
seven  hundred  dollars  for  it.  That  looks  like  a  lot 
of  money  for  the  place;  but  it's  a  crackin'  good 
forty — best  land  that  ever  laid  outdoors.  Cracky! 
You'd  ought  to  see  the  squashes  that  grows  there!" 

When  the  unintentional  humorist  ceased  for  a 
moment,  someone  in  the  audience  sniggered.  Sandy 
Pete  swung  about  and  glared.  The  sniggering 
stopped,  and  the  appreciative  grins  died  away.  Pete 
being  recognized  as  the  most  prominent  gun-man  in 
the  diggings,  the  ready  response  to  his  glare  of  dis- 
pleasure was  merely  a  silent  tribute  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  his  past  escapades.  Twice  already  in  its 
brief  history,  Pete  had  shot  up  the  town;  and  Ru- 
mor, dwelling  upon  other  deeds  in  other  camps,  had 
flung  about  him  an  atmosphere  of  sinister  glory. 

"They  hain't  much  difference  in  folks  the  world 
over,"  continued  Punkins,  expansive  with  the  sense 
of  having  launched  successfully  into  an  heroic  ad- 
venture.    "Dag  on  me,   if  it  don't  seem  like  I'm 


LIFE'S   LURE  93 

talkin'  to  the  fellers  down  at  the  grocery  store  at 
the  Corners.  Come  on  and  have  somethin'  on  me; 
not  as  I'm  wantin'  anything  myself." 

Punklns  secretly  admired  his  own  fine  imitation  of 
a  slouching  Western  gait  as  he  approached  the  bar. 

"Let  'em  name  their  pizen  and  I  guess  I  can 
pay!"  he  drawled,  addresing  Drake  behind  the  bar. 
He  fancied  Bill  Haines  peeking  in  through  the 
dingy  windows,  and  felt  superior  and  triumphant. 
"Name  your  pizen!"  said  Punkins  to  the  world  In 
general.  He  repeated  the  word  "pizen,"  rolling  it 
on  his  tongue  and  tasting  the  manly  flavor  of  it. 
It  was  such  an  exquisite,  story-bookish,  Western 
word !  With  studied  carelessness  he  produced  a  roll 
of  bills. 

Sandy  Pete  stepped  up.  "This  ain't  on  the  stran- 
ger, Sam,"  he  said.  "It's  on  me.  Your  money 
ain't  no  good  here,  youngster,"  he  added  to  Pun- 
kins;  and,  in  a  lower  tone,  "Supper's  about  ready 
down  at  the  Boss  Eatin'  House,  and  you  better  hus- 
tle down  there  if  you  want  any  grub." 

But  Punklns  stayed  long  enough  to  be  somewhat 
staggered  by  the  amount  collected  for  the  drinks. 
The  sum  would  have  kept  his  mother  and  Jane  and 
him  several  months. 

"Well,"  he  announced,  "I  guess  I'll  go  and  hunt 
up  a  square  meal;  and  I've  got  to  write  a  letter  home 
too.  To-morrow  I'll  hunt  up  a  place  and  begin  dig- 
gin'.  I  reckon  there's  plenty  of  gold  hereabouts." 
Exit  Punkins. 


94  LIFE'S   LURE 

"Do  you  know  who  that  is?'*  asked  Devlin,  lean- 
ing over  the  bar  toward  Drake.  "That's  the  young- 
est son  of  Mr.  John  Jones  I  What  a  delightfully 
heavy  sack  he's  carrying  I" 

A  broad  grin  from  the  recently  refreshed  audi- 
ence followed  Punkins  through  the  door.  When  he 
was  outside,  a  buzz  of  merriment  began  over  the 
clinking  glasses. 

Sandy  Pete,  who  had  been  staring  meditatively 
into  an  untouched  glass  of  whiskey,  wheeled  about 
with  his  hand  upon  a  gun  at  his  belt,  and  glared 
upon  the  fun-makers. 

"Stop  your  laughin'  I"  he  growled.  A  silence  fell. 
"Damn  you,  if  ydu  want  to  poke  fun  at  a  farmer 
boy,  poke  it  at  me !  I  was  a  clod-jumper  and  stump- 
grubber  myself  once!  Now  poke  fun  at  me,  will 
you?  I'm  proud  of  it,  by  God!  And  most  of  you 
was  the  same  once,  but  you  ain't  men  enough  to 
remember  it !  I  remember !  And  when  I  get  to  re- 
memberin'  good  and  strong,  I'm  apt  to  be  nasty  if 
anybody  tries  to  stop  me!  That  green  little  coun- 
try feller  has  took  me  back  thirty  year.  W'y,  when 
he  was  a-talkin'  his  big  talk,  I  could  hear  the  cows 
tinklin'  and  bawlin'  up  the  lane;  and  I  could  smell 
the  medder  with  the  rain  on  it! 

"He's  just  a  poor  little  green  farmer  boy  as  ought 
to  be  with  his  mother;  but  I'd  rather  be  that  green 
right  now,  by  God,  than  have  all  the  gold  in  these 
hills !  And  I'm  goin'  to  begin  savin'  to-morrow,  and 
I'm  goin'  back  when  I  get  another  stake.  Why  don't 


LIFE'S   LURE  95 

you  laugh,  damn  you!  And  If  my  old  mother's 
llvin'  yet " 

Pete  choked.  He  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes  and  slouched  out  of  the  saloon. 

*Tete's  gettin'  nasty,"  remarked  the  claim  shark. 

*'And  I  know  why,"  said  Monte  Joe,  quietly  ap- 
propriating the  untouched  glass  of  whiskey  left  by 
the  subject  of  discussion.  "And  I  know  why,"  he 
repeated,  having  put  the  liquor  where  It  would  be 
properly  appreciated.  "Got  a  gocxi  scoldin'  from 
Ma  Woollver  this  mornln*.  Lord  A'mlghty,  but 
didn't  she  dress  him,  though!" 

"How's  that?"  asked  one  of  the  loungers. 

"Well,  you  see,"  Monte  Joe  went  on,  evidently 
enjoying  the  morsel  of  gossip  he  was  about  to  give 
up;  "I  was  comin'  by  the  spring  down  below  the 
Eatin'  House,  and  hearin'  talkin',  I  just  stopped  a 
bit  outside  the  brush.  It  was  Ma  Woollver  and 
Pete.  Guess  Ma  went  after  water,  and  Pete  was 
layln'  for  her.  Seems  like  Pete  had  popped  the 
question  to  her,  and  Ma  was  tellln'  him  what  a 
ornery  pup  he  Is " 

Monte  here  broke  off  and  glanced  cautiously  at 
the  door;  then  he  proceeded. 

"And  she  was  sayin':  *No,  indeed,  I  ain't  goln' 
to  go  and  marry  you  as  long  as  you  try  to  sop  up 
all  the  liquor  In  the  diggln's  and  go  cavin'  about 
shootin'  people  up.  Lawsy,  no!'  she  says.  'Pa 
Woollver'd  turn  over  in  his  grave  and  groan  if  I 
was  to  even  think  of  such  a  thing,'  she  says. 


96  LIFE'S   LURE 

"'Not  as  I  don't  like  you,  Pete/  she  says; 
"cause  next  to  Pa  Wooliver  you've  got  the  makin' 
of  the  best  man  as  ever  was  in  you,'  she  says." 
Monte  Joe  roared  with  mirth.  "And  then  she  lit 
into  him  and  she  just  give  him  hell.  And  Pete  he 
swore  to  God  he'd  straighten  up.  'Give  me  a  trial,' 
he  says;  'just  give  me  a  trial,  and  promise  to  marry 
me  if  I  straighten  up.'  And  I  couldn't  see  'em,  but 
Pete  was  a-bawlin'  like  a  suckin'  calf — by  God,  he 
was  that!" 

Once  more  Joe  glanced  nervously  at  the  door. 

"And  then,  Ma's  voice  got  soft  again,  and  she 
promised,  and  then  I  heerd  a  sound  like  a  cow 
pullin'  her  hoof  out  of  gumbo  and " 

Joe  broke  off  suddenly,  and  his  face  paled.  Sandy 
Pete,  having  forgotten  his  coat,  had  returned  for  it. 


II 


Evidently  Punklns  was  a  favorite  of  Fortune;  for 
next  morning  no  sooner  had  he  stepped  from  the 
Boss  Eating  House,  his  heart  glowing  with  Ma 
Woollver's  motherllness,  than  he  came  face  to  face 
with  that  much  besought  deity  In  the  person  of 
Monte  Joe.  One  can  never  guess  In  what  particu- 
lar Incarnation  she  may  choose  to  become  manifest. 

"Howdy  !'*  cried  Joe  In  his  most  expansive  man- 
ner. "Now  I  say  It's  lucky  that  I  ran  onto  you! 
Been  thinkin'  a  lot  about  you !  Had  a  good  snooze, 
did  you?" 

Punklns  alleged  that  he  had  "slept  like  a  log," 
neglecting  to  mention  a  certain  bad  dream  about  his 
mother  and  Jane,  from  which  he  had  awakened 
sobbing;  for,  evidently,  the  world  at  large  consid- 
ered him  a  grown  man. 

"Now  that's  good,"  said  Joe.  "Got  a  little  time 
for  a  walk  and  a  talk?  Fve  got  something  Impor- 
tant to  tell  you,  and  I  don't  want  nobody  but  you  to 
hear  It." 

Shovels  and  picks  were  rising  and  falling  In  the 
diggings  along  the  creek.     Punklns  found  himself 

97 


98  LIFE'S   LURE 

quite  at  leisure  for  the  moment,  and  the  two,  Joe 
directing  the  way,  took  the  burro  trail  that  led  up 
Potato  Gulch. 

"Now  we  can  talk  safe,'*  said  Joe,  when  they  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  first  steep  ascent,  with  Bear 
Gulch  spread  out  below  them.  "What  part  of  In- 
diany  did  you  say  you  was  from?" 

"Johnson  Corners!"  Punkins  snatched  hungrily 
at  the  alluring  theme.  "It's  near  Coal  City,  you 
know,  and " 

^^WhatT  cried  Joe,  stopping  stock  still,  his  mouth 
wide  in  surprise.  "You  mean  that  Johnson  Corn- 
ers? W'y,  young  man,"  he  went  on  in  a  voice  sud- 
denly developing  a  slow,  orotund  pathos — "w'y,  my 
dear  young  man,  I  used  to  know  that  country  like 
the  wart  on  my  hand.  I  was  horned  in  Coal  City, 
State  of  Indiany!" 

A  light  of  joy  beamed  in  the  face  of  Punkins. 

*^ShakeF'  cried  Joe,  extending  his  hand.  "I 
knowed  there  was  somethin'  sort  of  peculiar  about 
you — somethin'  kind  of  homelike!  Danged  if  it 
don't  make  me  feel  like  bawlin' !  It  ain't  often  a 
man  runs  across  another  man  from  his  own  State. 
Well,  I  got  my  mind  made  up  now,  for  sure.  And 
I'm  a  goin'  to " 

Joe  stopped  and  looked  cautiously  about  for 
possible  eavesdroppers. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  put  you" — with  the  mysterious 
squint  of  an  eye — "I'm  a-goin'  to  put  you  right  onto 
the — richest — damned    placer — claim — in — these — 


LIFERS   LURE  99 

here — Black  Hills — by  God !  That's  just  what  Fm 
a-goin'  to  do!" 

"Oh,  do  you  know  where  there's  a  good  claim  I 
can  have?"  cried  Punkins,  overjoyed  at  the  prospect 
blossoming  out  before  him. 

''Sh-h-h!"  went  Joe,  raising  a  stern  finger,  coun- 
selling secrecy.  "You  got  to  keep  it  mum,  pardner. 
You  see,  a  man's  in  danger  the  minute  anybody 
knows  he's  got  a  fat  thing!  Understand?  And  you 
can't  tell  who's  a-layin'  out  there  in  the  brush  a- 
listenin'  to  us.  Now  let  me  put  a  flea  into  your  ear. 
They  ain't  many  men  as  can  be  trusted  about  these 
diggin's.     I  say  it's  too  bad — but  it's  so. 

"You  can't  be  glad  enough  that  I  got  hold  of 
you  first,  if  I  do  say  it.  W'y,  my  friend,  there's 
men  here  as  would  take  your  last  damned  dollar — 
that  there  is !  But  it  ain't  like  Joe  to  do  that.  And 
then,  we're  both  from  dear  old  Indiany,  and  that's 
just  like  as  if  we'd  sucked  the  same  mother — eh? 
Well,  blood  counts,  I  always  say;  blood  sure  does 
count ! 

"Now  don't  mention  what  I'm  a-goin'  to  do  for 
you  to  a  soul — mind  you,  not  to  a  living  soul !  Like 
as  not" — Joe's  voice  had  fallen  into  a  confidential 
undertone;  "like  as  not " 

Here  he  lifted  a  sinister  right  hand,  imitating  the 
act  of  firing  a  revolver,  and  simulated  the  facial 
spasm  of  a  man  who  has  recently  taken  an  ounce  of 
hot  lead  into  his  system. 

"I  won't  say  a  word,"  whispered  Punkins;  "hon- 


loo  LIFE'S   LURE 

est  to  God  and  cross  my  heart — hope  to  die,  I 
won't!" 

"Oh,  I  know  that!"  Joe  went  on  reassuringly.  "I 
got  you  sized  up  proper.  When  I  heard  you  talkin' 
last  night,  I  says,  'Now  there's  a  knowin'  young 
chap  for  sure;  just  the  sort  of  a  chap  to  know  a  good 
thing  when  he  sees  it!'  And  I  says,  'He's  a  tender- 
foot, to  be  sure,  but  it  won't  take  him  long  to  get 
his  feet  good  and  tough,'  I  says.     Eh?" 

Joe  grinned  wisely  and  poked  a  jovial  finger  into 
Punkins'  ribs. 

"Only,  at  first,"  he  went  on,  "I  was  a-goin'  to 
charge  you  half  price  for  the  claim;  'cause  you  know 
— well,  mothers  and  sisters,  and  that  sort  of  thing 
— ^kind  of  touch  a  feller's  heart.  Can't  explain  it  no 
other  way.  'Cause  I  was  always  a  man  to  drive  a 
hard  bargain. 

"But  when  I  learned  just  now  that  you  was  from 
the  same  country  as  me — sort  of  flabbergasted  me 
— give  me  the  weak  heart,  you  know.  And  do  you 
know  what  I'm  a-goin'  to  do?" 

Joe  lapsed  into  an  eloquent  silence  and  watched 
the  effect  of  his  words  bloom  like  a  flower  in  the  face 
of  his  auditor.  Punkins'  eyes  dilated;  his  breath- 
ing deepened;  there  was  a  perceptible  stiffening  of 
his  spine,  and  a  slight  haughty  curving  of  his  lip. 
He  saw  gold!  Gold!  Great  yellow  floods  of  it! 
Already  he  was  standing  before  his  critics  at  the 
Corners'  grocery  store.  Already  he  had  placed  a 
heavy  sack  upon  the  counter.    He  stood  with  folded 


LIFE'S   LURE  loi 

arms,  awaiting  the  dramatic  moment  •oif'*his  triumph. 
Now  old  Deacon  Brown  opens  the  sack^r-there  is  a 
gasp — an  exclamation  of  wonder^ — -' '    ''      '    '   '  •  ' 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  a-goin'  to  do,"  resumed 
Joe  with  impressive  deliberation  ;*'rm  a-goin' to  take 
you  up  here  about  a  mile,  and  I'm  a-goin'  to  show 
you — I'm  a-goin'  to  show  you  the  goldernedest,  rich- 
est placer  claim  in  these  parts !  And  I'm  a-goin'  to 
prove  it  to  you !  Ain't  goin'  to  ask  you  to  buy  no 
pig  in  a  poke.  I'm  a-goin'  to  show  you  the  gold, 
and  then  I'm  a-goin'  to  say  to  you,  as  one  man  from 
Indiany  to  another  man  from  Indiany,  mind  you; 
I'm  a-goin'  to  say  to  you,  'Take  it  or  leave  it  for 
three  hundred  dollars  1'  Three  hundred  little  dirty 
dollars !  And  I  know  I  sound  like  a  fool  a-sayin'  it; 
but  I'm  a-goin'  to  do  you  a  good  turn,  by  God,  if  I 
bust  my  back  a-tryin' !  That  I  am.  W'y,  if  you'd 
come  to  me  and  said,  'Joe,  I'm  from  Ohio,  and  I'm 
a-lookin'  for  a  claim,'  I'd  a-socked  the  price  up  to 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  you'd  've  paid  it  after 
seein'  the  claim,  and  glad  to  get  it  for  that.  'Cause, 
as  I  say,  I  can  see  with  one  eye  that  you  ain't  gone 
about  the  world  in  a  trunk,  and  you  know  a  good 
thing!" 

Joe  slapped  Punkins  on  the  back  and  looked 
sternly  wise.  Punkins  swelled  visibly.  It  was  all 
turning  out  as  he  thought.  It  seemed  that  a  man 
couldn't  be  properly  appreciated  in  his  home  neigh- 
borhood. Now  there  was  Bill  Haines  who  had 
treated  him  like  a  mere  boy.     Boy,  indeed!    H'm! 


I02  LIFE'S   LURE 

Pu^klns  wished  Bill  could  be  lying  out  there  in  the 
brush  that  fringed  the  trail,  just  about  that  time, 
a)id  ht^ar  hov^/  a  man  of  the  world  judged !  Wouldn't 
it  make  old  Bill  feel  sneakin',  though ! 

To  be  sure,  Punkins  had  only  five  hundred  dol- 
lars in  his  pocket  at  the  moment;  but  the  easy  assur- 
ance with  which  Joe  mentioned  five  thousand,  cast 
a  new  and  very  agreeable  glory  about  Punkins'  pri- 
vate estimate  of  himself.  It  was  almost  like  having 
five  thousand — that  is,  Punkins  felt  himself  multi- 
plied by  ten.  Under  the  influence  of  the  fine  new 
sensation,  the  claim  took  second  place.  With  the 
long,  easy,  imaginative  leap  of  cocksure  youth,  it 
had  become  quite  real  at  once — taken  its  certain 
place  with  the  things  that  are.  So,  accepting  the 
five-thousand-dollar  hypothesis,  Punkins  followed 
the  agreeable  train  of  thought  to  its  ultima  ratio — 
the  final  crushing  humiliation  of  Bill  Haines  and  the 
Deacon  and  the  grocery-store  philosophers  in  gen- 
eral.    Such  a  crestfallen  company  as  they  were ! 

Joe  had  subsided  into  an  orchestral  silence,  the 
better  to  allow  the  music  of  his  words  to  soak  in, 
and  the  two  toiled  on  up  the  burro  trail  without 
speaking  for  some  time. 

At  length  Punkins  laughed  out  merrily.  Joe 
stopped,  and  anxiously  searched  the  rosy  face  of  the 
greenhorn.     "What  you  laughin'  at?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  was  a-laughin'  to  think  how  old  Haines 
and  the  Deacon  and  the  Potts  family  '11  feel  when  I 
go  back  home  just  lousy  with  gold!"     Punkins  went 


LIFE'S   LURE  103 

off  again  Into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  finally  attenu- 
ated into  a  chuckle.  "They  did  think  they  was  so 
smart/'  Punkins  resumed.  "The  Pottses  has  got 
the  biggest  house  at  the  Corners,  and  you'd  ought 
to  see  their  girls  put  on  airs !  And  they  won't  have 
nothin'  to  do  with  Ma  and  Jane,  you  know.  Did 
you  know  the  Pottses?"  Punkins  didn't  wait  for 
an  answer.  "Used  to  keep  a  store  in  Coal  City, 
you  know;  and  folks  says  old  man  Potts  got  rich 
givin'  short  weights  and  puttin'  sand  In  the  sugar. 
And  he's  got  a  squinty  look  in  his  eyes  like  as  if  he 
was  always  lookin'  for  a  hole  in  a  penny!  Goes 
round  the  Corners  lookin'  like  a  bunch  of  old  rags. 
But  you'd  ought  to  see  the  girls!  Can't  walk  to 
church  for  fear  of  gettin'  their  feet  dirty;  got  to 
have  the  buggy  out.  And  the  way  they  stick  up  their 
nose!  Nobody's  good  enough  for  'em.  And  I  just 
says  to  Ma  and  Jane :  Tou  wait  till  I  get  back,  by 
cracky!  I'll  get  you  a  lot  of  silk  dresses  and  a 
carriage^  and  then  you  can  stick  your  nose  up!'  I 
says.  And  old  Bill  Haines.  Well,  he  ain't  stuck  up, 
'cause  he's  got  to  grub  pretty  hard  to  keep  his  eight 
from  goin'  naked  and  starvin'  to  death;  but  he 
thinks  he's  awful  smart,  just  the  same.  Him  and 
Pa  was  good  friends,  and  I  can't  get  it  through  my 
head  why!  But  Bill  thinks  he  can  boss  me,  'cause 
Pa  liked  him. 

"He  was  always  tellin'  me  how  young  I  was. 
And  I  just  jumped  up  and  said  onc't — Ma  and 
Jane  and  Mrs.  Haines  was  there  too  and  heard  it — 


104  LIFE'S   LURE 

I  just  jumped  up  and  says,  'cause  I  was  so  tarnation 
mad  I  couldn't  see  straight;  I  just  says:  'Look  a 
here,  Bill  Haines!  A  man  hain't  smart  just  be- 
cause he's  old!  It  ain't  nothin'  to  be  old!  Anybody 
can  get  old  If  they  eat  enough !'  I  says.  'Bein'  young 
ain't  no  fatal  disease,'  I  says.  And  Ma  she  says, 
'Son,  son,  son!^  And  old  Bill  Haines  got  mad  and 
he  says:  'If  that  was  my  son,  I'd  give  him  a  good 
tannin'  I' 

"And  won't  I  show  him,  though,  when  I  get  back! 
By  gol,  I'll  pay  off  the  mortgage  on  his  little  stone- 
patch  for  him,  and  then  he'll  change  his  tune,  I 
reckon!" 

Punklns  paused  to  catch  his  breath,  and  Joe  took 
up  his  cue. 

"Easiest  thing  In  the  world!"  he  said.  "Just  like 
fallln'  off  of  a  log!  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  swing  a 
pick  up  and  down,  slosh  a  little  gravel  In  the  water, 
and  shovel  gold  nuggets  Into  a  sack  till  you're 
ashamed  of  yourself!  Haw,  haw,  haw!  Won't 
they  look  sick  though,  when  you  come  marchin'  home 
with  a  whole  trunkful — eh?  Hope  you  won't  for- 
get old  Joe  then — old  Joe  that  stepped  aside  for  you, 
'cause  his  heart  was  weak.  And  then  you  can  set 
up  for  yourself — get  married,  and  all  that " 

"How'd  you  know  that?"  interrupted  Punkins, 
blushing  like  a  girl. 

"Know  what?" 

"W'y,  about  gettin*  married" — Punklns  giggled 
with  the  sheer  joy  of  it. 


LIFE'S   LURE  105 

"Know  It?''  sniffed  Joe.  "Ain't  I  got  eyes,  and 
can't  I  tell  a  likely  feller  when  I  see  one?  Fel- 
lers like  you  don't  have  no  trouble  gettin'  girls 
—eh?" 

Joe  jovially  poked  Punkins  in  the  ribs,  whereat 
the  latter  giggled  again. 

"Just  like  flies  and  molasses,"  explained  Joe,  with 
an  air  of  conviction. 

"Well,  I  am  goin'  to,"  faltered  Punkins,  grow- 
ing more  confidential  with  his  good-natured  com- 
panion; "I  am  goin'  to  get  married.  Her  name's 
Bessie.  Ain't  that  a  pretty  name?  And  you'd 
ought  to  see  her  hair!  Cracky!  All  shiny  like 
gold!" 

Punkins,  growing  bolder  with  the  smiling  atten- 
tion of  his  comrade,  became  voluble,  working  over 
the  old  theme  into  a  new  and  wonderful  music, 
through  which  the  golden  note  of  Bessie  ran  like  a 
dominant  melody. 

"Here  we  are!"  Joe  broke  in  at  last.  "Right 
here  it  is!  Young  man,  you're  a-standin'  on  your 
fortune!" 

Awed  into  silence,  Punkins  gazed  about  upon  the 
gravel  bed  of  a  mountain  rill.  All  about,  the  dense 
pines  moaned — a  place  of  awful  mystery.  Bessie 
vanished;  Jane  and  Mother  vanished;  Haines  and 
the  Deacon  were  no  more.  Gold!  The  thought  of 
it  so  close  to  him  was  almost  terrifying. 

"Looks  just  like  a  common  place,  don't  it?"  said 
Joe.     "Well,  now  you  look  here."     He  got  down 


io6  LIFE'S   LURE 

on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  Punklns  knelt  beside 
him.  The  gravel  had  been  disturbed  recently  at 
that  particular  spot,  but  Punkins  did  not  notice,  nor 
would  a  slight  displacement  of  gravel  have  meant 
anything  to  him. 

Scratching  about  with  his  fingers,  Joe  finally  lifted 
from  the  pebbles  a  dirty  chunk  of  something  that 
looked  very  much  like  any  little  piece  of  stone. 
"Heft  that!"  said  he  laconically. 

Punkins  took  the  thing  in  his  hand. 

"See  how  heavy  that  is?"  said  Joe,  gazing  wisely 
into  the  blanched  face  of  the  lad.  "Now  you  take 
that  over  to  the  little  creek  there,  and  you  wash  it 
off  good  and  clean." 

Punkins  went  to  the  little  creek  and  carefully 
washed  the  dirt  away  from  the  surface  of  the  pre- 
cious thing. 

^'Ifs  goldr^  he  gasped,  staring  wide-eyed  on  the 
small  nugget  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Joe.  "What  do  you  think 
Pve  been  gassin'  about — eh?  Of  course  it's  gold, 
and  you  see  me  pick  it  up — didn't  you?" 

"Ye-e-s,"  faltered  Punkins. 

"And  you  want  to  remember,"  said  Joe,  "that  I 
just  happened  to  find  this  in  the  top  gravel.  The 
big  ones  is  underneath  in  the  bed  rock,  'cause  they're 
so  heavy  they  sink.  It  ain't  one  claim  in  a  thousand 
that  has  a  nugget  in  the  top  gravel.  But  when  you 
find  it  there — well,  you  can  start  to  hirin'  your  serv- 
ants— you're  a  millionaire!'* 


LIFE'S   LURE  107 

Punkins  still  knelt  by  the  water,  staring  upon  the 
nugget  as  one  out  of  his  wits. 

"Well?"  urged  Joe. 

"How  much  did  you  say  you  wanted  for  the 
claim?"  gasped  Punkins. 

"I  asked  three  hundred,"  said  Joe,  with  a  note  of 
dejection  in  his  voice.  "But — ^but — Pd  ought  to 
keep  it  for  myself — I  really  ought.  No,"  after  a 
pause,  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  mean  with  you — Pm 
a-goin'  to  stick  to  my  word!" 

"I— Pll  give  you  three  hundred  and  fifty — and 
— and  PU  let  you  have  ever  so  much  gold  when  I 
get  it  dug  up,"  coaxed  Punkins. 

"Done!"  cried  Joe,  getting  to  his  feet.  "Give 
me  the  money  quick  before  I  get  to  thinkin'  too 
much — I  might  go  back  on  my  word." 

Punkins  rooted  into  an  inside  pocket,  with  a  very 
nervous  right  hand,  and  brought  forth  a  wad  of 
bills — all  in  fives  and  tens. 

^'ThereF'  said  Joe,  when  three  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  had  been  counted  out  in  his  hands.  "I  can't 
go  back  on  you  now,  and  I  feel  relieved.  Lord 
A'mighty,  but  that  was  a  tussle  I  had  with  mvself ! 
Now  Pll  tell  you;  you've  got  to  have  a  cradle  and 
a  pick  and  a  shovel  and  a  pan  and  a  tent;  and  Pll 
sell  'em  to  you  for  fifty  dollars — the  whole  outfit. 
Let's  get  back  and  we'll  catch  the  burro  and  Pll  help 
you  pack  up  and  you  can  get  started  to-morrow. 
You  won't  have  no  trouble  doin'  the  work  right. 
Just  watch  how  they  do  it  down  in  the  Gulch,  and 


io8  LIFE'S   LURE 

it'll  all  come  to  you  natural.     But,  mind  you,  keep 
this  deal  mum  I" 

On  the  way  back  to  Bear  Gulch,  conversation 
lagged  dismally.  Joe  was  thinking,  *'How  can  I 
keep  this  money  hidden  from  Nell?"  and  Punkins 
was  thinking  how  he  would  spend  his  fortune  for 
Bessie  and  Mother  and  Jane. 

Several  hours  later,  Punkins  started  back  up 
the  trail  toward  his  claim,  leading  Christmas, 
who  had  been  driven  into  ambush  and  captured. 
On  the  back  of  the  burro  were  packed  a  tent, 
some  tools,  cooking  utensils,  and  provisions  for  a 
week. 

Joe,  having  seen  his  brother  from  Indiana  fairly 
launched  upon  the  new  venture,  strolled  back  to  the 
steps  of  the  Bonanza  Dance  Hall,  where  Placer 
Nell  sat,  lazily  taking  the  sun. 

"Oh,  Joe,"  called  Nell,  as  he  approached  her, 
"would  you  do  me  a  little  favor  to-day?" 

"I'm  dead  broke,  Nell!"  answered  Joe,  "swear 
to  God  I'm  dead  broke !" 

"What  a  liar  you  are,  Joe!"  laughed  Nell;  "may- 
be you  want  the  price  of  a  drink!  But  what  I 
wanted  to  know  is,  which  end  of  that  rope  did  you 
tie  the  jackass  on?" 

Joe  laughed  heartily,  now  that  his  newly  acquired 
wealth  seemed  safe. 

"Both  ends!"  he  said. 

"Ah,  Joe!"  jeered  Nell;  "you're  jealous  already, 


LIFE'S   LURE  109 

and  youVe  got  reason  to  be.  What  sort  of  fellow 
is  he — this  Punkins?'* 

"Just  weaned,"  answered  Joe. 

"Talk  about  his  mother?" 

"Yes,  and  he's  engaged!" 

Nell  laughed  merrily. 

"I'm  awfully  fond  of  veal!"  she  cooed.  "Say, 
Joe,  go  and  buy  me  a  drink;  I'm  all  of  a  fever!" 


Ill 


In  a  letter  written  to  the  home  folks  during  his 
first  night  on  the  claim,  Punkins'  pencil  was  elo- 
quent. With  some  well-intentioned  inroads  upon 
grammar,  he  sketched  the  verbal  picture  of  a  young 
hero  fearlessly  established  In  the  wilderness,  with 
only  a  tent  for  a  covering  and  a  roaring  pine  fire 
for  a  light.  All  about  him  the  huge  pines  soared, 
moaning  far  up  In  the  pitch-black  night — so  thick 
they  were  that  few  stars  could  look  through. 

"Jane,''  said  the  pencil,  by  way  of  vivid  illustra- 
tion, "you  know  how  awful  tall  the  walnuts  is,  down 
on  the  Perkins  place  near  Coal  City?  Don't  you 
mind  when  we  all  went  visiting  there  before  Pa 
died;  and  how  you  and  me  swung  each  other  in  the 
swing  out  In  the  walnut  timber;  and  when  the  swing 
went  up  so  high  it  was  pretty  near  straight  out,  we'd 
look  up,  with  that  funny  tickle  all  through  us,  and 
the  tops  of  the  trees  looked  like  they  was  scratching 
the' sky,  they  was  so  tall?  Well,  Jane,  them  walnuts 
would  look  like  baby  trees  alongside  of  these  here 
pines!" 

Just  beyond  the  ring  of  light  cast  by  his  fire,  the 
night  was  "as  black  as  a  stack  of  black  catsl"     But 

no 


LIFE'S   LURE  in 

he  wasn't  afraid  of  the  silver  tip  bears,  and  the  wild 
cats  and  the  mountain  lions  that  were  unquestion- 
ably looking  in  at  him  that  very  moment,  wishing 
they  could  eat  him;  though  Punkins  did  shiver 
slightly  as  the  pencil  hurried  bravely  over  the  words. 

"I've  got  my  gun  on  my  knees,"  he  scrawled,  with 
an  unpleasant  mixture  of  fear  and  pride.  "It's  a 
great  big  rifle,"  the  pencil  explained,  "and  It  shoots 
a  bullet  as  big  as  the  end  of  my  thumb.  I  paid 
thirty  dollars  for  it.  That  seems  like  a  lot  of  money 
to  give  for  a  gun,  but  a  man — "  Punkins  wrote 
the  word  with  a  slight  swelling  of  the  chest  " — a 
man  has  got  to  be  pertected — "  Punkins  crossed 
out  the  misspelled  word  and  wrote  it  again — "pre- 
tected  in  this  savage  land!  A  silver  tip  bear  Is  as 
big  as  old  Daisy,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion, alluding  to  the  pet  cow  down  on  the  home 
place.  "I'd  just  like  to  see  one  stick  Its  old  nose 
Into  my  tent,"  bragged  the  pencil;  "I'd  blow  its  old 
head  off  and  send  the  skin  to  you.  Ma,  for  a  rug 
like  the  Perkinses  has — don't  you  mind?" 

At  this  point  it  occurred  to  Punkins  that  the  Coal 
City  Clarion  would  probably  be  glad  to  publish  his 
letter.  The  Clarion  was  the  county  paper,  you 
know;  one's  name  In  its  columns  amounted  almost 
to  fame.  With  this  In  mind,  the  pencil  developed 
a  more  elaborate  method.  It  launched  forth  Into 
a  long  exposition  of  the  science  of  placer  mining, 
making  it  quite  plain  that  the  writer  had  thoroughly 
mastered  the  subject.     For,   indeed,   Punkins  had 


112  LIFE'S   LURE 

stopped  for  an  hour  on  his  way  up  the  gulch  that 
afternoon  to  talk  with  an  old  placer  miner,  who 
knew  all  about  it.  Now  the  young  man  who  had 
closely  questioned  the  old  placer  miner  was  none 
other  than  the  young  man  who,  in  his  now  remote 
childhood,  had  been  conspicuous  in  district  school 
for  "head  marks"  wrested  from  the  serrated  line  of 
"scholars"  who  regularly  every  day  toed  a  crack 
and  "spelled  down."  Therefore,  a  matter  of  little 
marvel  would  it  be  to  Mother  and  Jane  that  the 
science  of  placer  mining  had  been  so  readily  mas- 
tered. 

Punkins  used  the  technical  words  of  the  business 
as  lavishly  as  might  be.  They  were  so  colorful 
that,  as  he  wrote  them,  he  spoke  them  aloud  for  his 
own  satisfaction. 

You  had  only  to  dig  down  until  you  struck  pay 
gravely  which  was  next  to  the  hed  rock;  then  you 
panned  some  of  the  pay  dirt  ("same  as  pay 
gravel,^*  the  pencil  explained,  that  there  might  be 
no  lack  of  clarity)  ;  and  if  you  found  color^  why, 
there  you  were !  Now  the  writer  wasn't  going  to 
put  in  a  sluice.  A  sluice,  you  know,  was  a  long  thin 
box  with  riffles  in  the  bottom.  Riffles  were  hard  to 
explain  in  writing;  but,  anyway,  they  were  made  out 
of  a  board — called  the  false  bottom — that  fitted 
into  the  bottom  of  the  long  thin  box,  and  the  board 
had  a  lot  of  holes  in  it  to  catch  the  gold  when  it 
washed  down.  Because,  you  know,  you  made  the 
water  run  through  your  sluice,  and  you  shovelled 


LIFE'S   LURE  113 

your  pay  dirt  (same  as  pay  gravel)  into  it.  Oh 
yes,  pay  dirt,  or  pay  gravel  (same  thing)  meant 
little  pebbles  and  ground  with  gold  mixed  in! 

But  the  writer  wasn't  going  to  use  a  sluice;  he 
was  going  to  use  a  cradle!  "No,  Ma,"  he  wrote, 
reassuringly,  "a  cradle  don't  mean  a  baby  cradle! 
It  means  a  wooden  box  that  rocks  back  and  forth 
when  you  shake  it,  and  you  shovel  the  pay  dirt 
(same  as  pay  gravel)  into  it,  pour  in  water  with  a 
bucket,  and  jolt  out  all  the  big  stones  and  things; 
and  then  you  find  the  gold  in  the  bottom!" 

"What  will  Bill  Haines  think  of  that!"  exulted 
Punkins  mentally,  as  he  finished  his  elucidation  of 
placer  mining. 

Now  the  writer  had  been  very  lucky,  the  pencil 
went  on  to  assure  all  the  readers  of  the  Clarion — 
very  lucky  indeed.  He  had  the  richest  claim 
around  Bear  Gulch !  Everybody  said  so !  (Punkins 
did  not  mean  to  lie.  Couldn't  one  trust  the  opinion 
of  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  quite  general?)  Why, 
you  hardly  ever  found  a  claim  with  gold  right  on 
top!  But  that  was  the  case  with  his  claim.  "I 
found  a  nugget  as  big  as  a  bantey  egg — "  (Punkins 
scratched  out  the  words,  and  wrote  them  over) 
" — almost  as  big  as  a  bantey  egg,  right  on  top  of 
my  claim,  and  the  big  nuggets  always  sink  to  the 
bottom,  that  is,  to  hed  rockF^ 

And  then,  there  was  another  thing  to  consider. 
Gold,  you  know,  washed  down  from  some  place 
above,  and  anybody  could  see  that  the  biggest  nug- 


114  LIFE'S   LURE 

gets  wouldn't  wash  as  far  as  the  little  ones.  (Wasn't 
that  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face,  though?) 
Well,  his  claim  was  away  up  at  the  head  of  the 
gulch;  and  yet,  a  four  hundred  dollar  nugget  had 
been  found  one  mile  below  his  claim  on  the  same 
creek ! 

"Let  Bill  Haines  and  the  Deacon  and  the  grocery 
store  wiseacres  make  the  most  of  that!"  thought 
Punkins. 

He  rounded  out  his  letter  with  a  real  literary 
flourish  by  quoting  all  he  could  remember  of  the 
poem  about  Alexander  Selkirk,  as  it  appeared  in  the 
old  dog-eared  reader  in  the  little  school  at  the  Cor- 
ners. His  heroic  isolation  suggested  the  brilliant 
idea  to  him.  Punkins  had  gained  a  fleeting  fame 
by  "speaking"  that  piece  at  a  "Literary;"  for  Mrs. 
Perkins  had  said  that  he  would  make  a  great  man 
some  day — like  Daniel  Webster — if  he  kept  onl 
How  many,  Punkins  wondered,  would  remember 
that  glorious  time  when  he  "spoke"  at  "Literary!" 

"I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey; 
My  claim  there  is  none  to  dispute " 

With  a  patronizing  rush  of  the  pencil,  he  remem- 
bered all  the  old  neighbors — with  the  exception  of 
the  Potts  family — and  signed  his  full  name. 

Having  finished  his  literary  effort  quite  to  his  sat- 
isfaction, he  rolled  up  in  his  blanket  and  tried  to  go 
to  sleep.     But  sleep  wouldn't  come.     There  were 


LIFE'S   LURE  115 

strange  noises  out  In  the  timber.  The  wind  moaned 
like  a  swarm  of  disconsolate  goblins.  Punklns 
fought  bravely  with  his  fear.  He  forced  himself  to 
imagine  Haines  and  the  Deacon  looking  through  the 
night  upon  him,  that  he  might  shake  off  his  weak- 
ness.    But  the  Images  were  too  vague. 

Then  he  tried  to  fancy  how  his  letter  would  look 
when  printed  In  the  Clarion — and  what  the  editor 
would  write  at  the  beginning  of  It — and  what  the 
people  would  think  when  they  read  It — the  Potts 
family,  for  Instance.  But  the  strange  scary  noises 
grew  more  distinct.  He  summoned  up  the  Images 
of  his  mother  and  Jane — and  golden-haired  Bessie; 
but  by  doing  so,  he  only  added  to  the  fear  the 
greater  torture  of  home-longing.  The  latter  grew 
on  him  until  he  got  up,  replenished  the  fire,  and 
having  cocked  his  gun,  began  a  second  letter. 

This  time,  he  did  not  write  for  publication;  the 
effort  was  not  at  all  literary.  It  was  a  pitiful  effort 
to  be  brave  in  spite  of  himself,  and  to  feel,  through 
the  many,  many  dark  miles  that  lay  between  him  and 
home,  the  hands  of  his  mother  and  sister. 

He  bade  them  not  to  worry.  He  wouldn't  be 
gone  from  home  very  long.  And  he  wasn't  home- 
sick— not  a  bit!  "Jane,  Fm  going  to  buy  you  an 
organ  as  soon  as  I  get  back,  with  a  looking  glass  in 
the  top  and  places  to  set  flowers  on,  like  the  Per- 
kinses has  got.  And  Ma,  Fm  going  to  get  you  lots 
of  silk  dresses — red  ones — when  I  come  home,  and 
a  sewing  machine!"     Did  Bessie  come  over  to  see 


ii6  LIFE'S   LURE 

Jane  very  often,  and  did  she  say  anything  about 
him?  ''Ma,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  nice  to  pay 
off  the  mortgage  on  Haines's  place?  Don't  say 
nothing  about  it,  though;  because  it  would  be  such 
a  good  surprise.  Only  tell  him  I  ain't  holding  noth- 
ing again  him  for  what  he  said." 

Punkins  sent  many,  many  hugs  and  kisses.  Tears 
dripped  on  the  page,  lit  fitfully  by  the  uncertain 
wood  fire.  He  let  them  drip.  Johnson  Corners 
was  too  far  away  to  see.  "Ma,"  he  ended,  "you 
can  give  the  other  letter  to  the  Clarion,  but  this  one 
is  for  you  and  Jane,  unless  you  want  to  let  Bessie 
read  it.'* 

He  felt  a  little  better  after  that,  and  succeeded  in 
inducing  a  feverish  sleep,  filled  with  growling  bears, 
incredulous  Deacons,  newspaper  articles  that 
wouldn't  read  gloriously  as  they  should,  but  went 
off  into  horrible  accounts  of  the  untimely  demise  of 
one  Punkins.  And  often  he  was  awakened  by  the 
ghostly  sobbing  of  his  mother  and  Jane.  He  heard 
it  very  plainly — ^just  as  they  had  sobbed  when  his 
father  lay  dead  in  the  "best  room"  back  on  the 
farm.  Then  he  imagined — with  indifferent  success 
— that  he  wasn't  away  from  home  at  all,  but  lying 
in  his  own  room,  in  the  old  home  place,  with  the 
wheat  crooning  in  the  wind  just  outside  his  window. 

The  dawn  came  sprinkling  in  through  the  heavy 
pines — a  golden  rain.  Punkins  was  up  with  the 
first  light,  and  off  for  Bear  Gulch  to  mail  his  home 
letter.     Returning  hurriedly  to  his  camp,  he  lit  a 


LIFE'S   LURE  117 

fire,  cooked  and  ate  breakfast.  A  fortune  was  wait- 
ing to  be  uncovered.  He  seemed  to  be  existing  in 
a  fairy  tale,  for  the  fear  and  longing  of  the  night 
had  been  washed  away  in  the  dawn. 

The  gold  mania,  in  its  earliest  stage,  had  fastened 
upon  him.  A  faint  elusive  memory  of  early  morn- 
ings back  on  the  farm  flashed  through  his  conscious- 
ness—  the  smell  of  dew-steeped  meadows,  the  croak 
of  frogs,  birds  chirping  in  the  green  dusk  of  the 
trees,  cows  mooing  from  the  barn,  horses  chewing 
and  blowing  at  the  mangers.  It  was  like  a  faint 
perfume  caught  and  lost  instantaneously. 

His  heart  pounded  as  he  lifted  the  pick  and  began 
to  loosen  the  ground  in  the  creek  bed.  Time  ceased 
to  exist  for  him.  The  sun  climbed  high,  forged  past 
the  meridian — fell.  The  shadows  of  evening  began 
to  deepen;  and  then,  with  a  sense  of  shock,  Punkins 
discovered  that  the  day  had  passed. 

He  had  uncovered  a  considerable  patch  of  pay 
gravel;  he  knew  it  to  be  pay  gravel,  for  there  was 
hard  rock  under  it.  He  stood  contemplating  his 
work  with  a  feeling  of  triumph.  Doubtless,  there 
were  nuggets  as  big  as  one's  fist  right  in  that  gravel. 
Punkins  was,  for  some  time,  undecided  as  to  whether 
or  not  he  should  begin  panning  at  once.  But,  finally, 
he  decided  that  it  would  be  much  better,  much  more 
glorious,  to  get  a  very  large  patch  of  it  uncovered, 
then  cradle  and  pan  it  all  at  once — a  sudden  burst 
of  accumulated  glory  I 


ii8  LIFE'S   LURE 

Now  how  much  would  one  suppose  the  latent  for- 
tune to  be?  The  thought  was  wonderfully  alluring. 
Punkins  lit  a  fire,  took  paper  and  pencil  and  began 
to  figure.  Now  take  the  nugget  In  his  pocket  for  a 
basis — a  safe  basis — since  only  small  nuggets  could 
be  found  on  the  surface.  Well,  be  generous  with 
Fate — give  her  the  odds !  Punkins  thought  the  nug- 
get might  be  worth  at  least  ten  dollars.  Of  course. 
It  might  be  worth  a  great  deal  more.  Anyway,  say 
ten  dollars. 

Now  after  all  the  gravel  had  been  uncovered,  he 
could  certainly  pan  out  one  hundred  pans  per  day. 
He  would  allow  himself  one  hundred  days  to  work 
— only  a  little  over  three  months!  "One  times 
ought  Is  ought — one  times  ought  Is  ought — "  Pun- 
kins had  been  good  at  figures;  the  teacher  used  to 
praise  him  for  It.  "Ciphering"  had  been  one  of  his 
strong  points.  One  hundred  multiplied  by  one  hun- 
dred made  ten  thousand — a  formidable  figure! 
Now  If  one  pan  netted  ten  dollars — ten  thousand 
pans — gee !  what  a  row  of  ciphers !  Punkins  put 
the  proposition  down,  and  the  result  was  awful. 

One  hundred  thousand  dollars! 

Figures  couldn't  He.  There  It  was,  all  In  black 
and  white.     Punkins  began  to  spend  the  money. 

Just  think!  A  cracking  good  forty — even  better 
than  the  old  home  forty — could  be  bought  for  one 
thousand  dollars !  One  hundred  farms !  Sixteen 
forties  to  a  square  mile — over  six  square  miles/ 
Whew!  But  wasn't  that  a  big  farm! 


LIFE'S   LURE  119 

But  Punklns  didn't  want  that  much  land.  Car- 
riages and  silk  dresses  and  organs  were  much  more 
to  his  taste.  After  several  hours  of  strenuous  ex- 
penditure, he  discovered  that,  taking  a  broad  view 
of  things,  probably  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
wasn't  quite  enough.  He  didn't  know  just  what 
silk  dresses  cost,  but  he  understood  that  they  cost 
quite  a  lot.  So  he  thought  the  matter  over  care- 
fully— and  found  a  flaw  in  his  reasoning! 

How  thoughtless  of  him!  One  nugget  to  the 
pan,  indeed!  No  doubt,  some  of  the  pans  would 
contain  five  or  six!  And  then  again — one  must  be 
reasonable  with  figures — a  pan  now  and  then  might 
contain  only  one.  Well,  he  would  make  a  conserva- 
tive estimate.  Say  the  pans  should  average  two  nug- 
gets each.     No,  he  would  allow  three  to  the  pan. 

The  figures  staggered  him  this  time !  Try  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  possibly  spend  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars !  So  he  deposited  the  unexpended 
balance — one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars — 
in  the  Coal  City  Bank,  and  rolled  up  in  his 
blanket. 

But  very  often  in  the  night  he  was  forced  to  get 
up,  replenish  the  fire  and  take  another  look  at  that 
nugget;  until,  finally,  he  became  convinced  that  it 
was  worth  at  the  very  least,  twenty  dollars.  Gee ! 
Look  how  heavy  it  was ! 

So  the  figuring  began  all  over  again.  Punkins 
extended  the  number  of  days  to  two  hundred;  and 
at  last,  just  as  the  gray  dawn  came  Into  the  tent,  he 


I20  LIFE'S   LURE 

found  that  he  was  a  millionaire  with  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  besides ! 

All  that  day  the  intrusive,  the  almost  impudent 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars  puzzled  Punklns;  un- 
til, finally,  he  relinquished  it,  and  thus  became  more 
certain  of  the  full,  round,  magnificent  million. 

Yes,  indeed,  the  more  he  thought  of  It,  the  more 
he  became  convinced  that  It  was  better  to  postpone 
the  panning  process  until  all  could  be  realized  at 
once.  Thus  the  million  would  come  upon  him  at 
once — like  a  charging  horde  of  cavalry,  haughty 
with  glinting  lances  and  announced  by  a  blare  of 
kingly  trumpets !  He  was  too  regal-minded  just  at 
present  to  fancy  the  slow  mobilization  of  isolated 
stragglers. 


IV 


Philosophy  is  like  a  faint-hearted  friend,  to  whom 
the  guilty  weak  may  appeal,  not  in  vain,  for  comfort. 
Indeed,  at  the  first  suggestion  of  a  lowered  ideal, 
she  will  accuse  one  to  one's  face — berate  one  like 
an  Infuriated  shrew.  But  if  one  remains  persist- 
ently unrepentant,  she  will  smile  upon  him  at  last, 
and  become  the  gentle  but  efficient  handmaiden  of 
self-justification. 

It  had  been  so  with  Drake.  His  first  day  as  pro- 
prietor of  the  King  Nugget  Saloon  had  been  one  of 
intense  shame.  To  have  been  Samuel  Drake — 
born  to  be  served — and  to  become  merely  "Biscuit 
Sam"  (good-naturedly  addressed  as  "Hungry"), 
standing  all  day  behind  a  bar  and  dispensing  poison 
at  a  pinch  of  gold  per  glass!  A  Roman  patrician, 
serving  In  the  reeking  mead  halls  of  the  Goth !  Or 
— to  put  it  in  a  manner  more  pertinent  to  his  first 
mood  of  shame — an  animated  town  pump,  degraded 
as  the  square  of  the  difference  between  water  and 
whiskey,  and  humbly  subservient  to  the  great 
parched  Maw! 

Pride  joined  forces  with  Philosophy  and  accused 
him  bitterly.     And  the  Moral  Aspect  of  the  case 

121 


122  LIFE'S   LURE 

completed  the  trinity  of  self-arraignment.  For  he 
was  conscious  of  the  fact  that — good  resolutions  of 
convalescence  to  the  contrary — he  had  once  more 
fallen  back  upon  the  world-damning  formula : 
Something  for  Nothing.  Once  more,  said  the  trin- 
ity, he  was  adding  debt  to  his  already  heavy  sack. 

But  late  in  the  first  night,  while  weighing  up  the 
day's  gold-receipts,  Pride  silently  stole  away.  For 
a  rapid  mental  calculation  demonstrated  that  in  a 
year  at  the  most,  his  half  of  the  proceeds  would  not 
only  make  hunger  an  impossibility,  but  assure  his 
wife  immunity  against  tearful  yearnings  for  unob- 
tainable opera  cloaks. 

Here  Philosophy  began  to  weaken  under  the  pres- 
sure of  the  desirable  fact.  She  smiled  pathetically 
upon  Drake,  there  in  the  night  silence,  as  though 
she  would  say:  "After  all,  you  did  not  do  it  for 
yourself — an  extenuating,  if  not  an  absolving  cir- 
cumstance. You  did  it  all  for  your  wife — the  little 
woman  who  could  not  and  should  not  live  without 
luxuries.  It  was  your  kind  heart,  the  gentleman's 
heart  of  Samuel  Drake,  that  guided  you  truly.  And 
then,  it  is  not  really  a  lowering  of  your  ideals;  it 
is  only  a  suspension  of  them  for  one  year.  And 
who  will  ever  know  the  gold  so  acquired  from  the 
gold  that  you  might  have  dug  up  in  a  creek  bed? 
Gold  Is  gold!  Will  the  white  hands  retain  the 
smell  of  bad  liquor  after  it  Is  all  over  and  you  re- 
turn from  exile,  Samuel  Drake?  Ah,  gold  Is  a  po- 
tent hand-wash  in  this  world!" 


LIFE'S   LURE  123 

Having  thus  fitted  his  philosophy  to  the  condi- 
tions, Drake  went  to  bed  that  night  with  a  new  hope 
for  a  pillow.  And  the  second  day  was  easier  than 
the  first.  To  be  sure,  the  Moral  Aspect  still  lin- 
gered wistfully  at  the  door  of  his  consciousness  with 
a  bashful  finger  at  her  mouth,  begging  to  be  noticed 
before  bidding  farewell.  But  Drake  bowed  out  the 
lingering  guest  with  a  final  bit  of  moral  philosophy. 

"It  is  quite  true,"  said  Philosophy,  "that  Mr. 
Drake  Is  further  Indebting  himself  to  the  world  by 
receiving  something  for  nothing;  and  It  Is  quite  as 
true  that  his  present  business  damages  his  fellow 
man;  but  (the  most  ominous  word  In  the  language !) 
if  he  did  not  do  It,  would  not  someone  else?  And 
he  is  doing  It  for  only  one  year.  Thereafter,  he 
intends  to  live  In  accordance  with  the  best  ethical 
standards.  Even  now  he  Is  planning  future  deeds 
of  philanthropy  I" 

This  broad,  philosophic  view  of  things  cheered 
Drake  considerably.  The  Moral  Aspect  departed, 
leaving  him  easy  prey  for  the  clutches  of  a  growing 
greed. 

Business  was  indeed  brisk  at  the  King  Nugget. 
The  two  emotional  extremes — riotous  joy  and  gray 
despair — paid  tribute  there.  The  successful  cele- 
brated their  successes,  and  the  failures  sought  to 
drown  failure  In  the  old  shallow  cup.  This,  as 
Devlin  pointed  out,  "caught  them  coming  and  go- 
ing." 

"But,  Sam,"  said  he,  "I  have  noted  the  mincing 


124  LIFE'S   LURE 

manner  In  which  you  take  the  pinch  of  gold  dust 
from  their  sacks.  You  use  the  thumb  and  the  big 
finger  perpendicularly — sol  Now,  if  you  should 
use  the  forefinger  and  the  thumb — thus ;  placing  the 
point  of  the  thumb  at  the  second  joint  of  the  finger, 
and  turning  the  finger  in  to  fit  the  thumb,  you  will 
find  the  pinch  much  more  satisfactory  in  that  the 
acquiring  surface  is  larger — about  trebled.  Which 
is  to  say,  that  if  heretofore  your  power  over  men 
has  been  one  hundred,  you  increase  it,  by  a  simple 
twist  of  the  finger,  to  three  hundred.  And,  as  all 
things  have  their  morals,  this  teaches  us  how  a  mere 
trifle  may  accomplish  wonders.  The  Golden  Text 
is :  Make  your  system  intensive P^ 

"But,"  said  Drake,  "would  you  call  that  quite 
fair?" 

"Fair?"  Devlin  laughed  merrily.  "Indeed  no  I 
Reserve  your  sentiments  for  Utopia,  Sam,  and 
kindly  let  me  know  when  you  discover  that  country. 
I  shall  hurry  there  at  once  and  become  emperor  in 
a  week!" 

On  the  third  day,  merely  out  of  curiosity  he  as- 
sured himself,  Drake  tried  the  theory  of  the  larger 
acquiring  surface.  An  act  once  performed  is  not  so 
difficult  to  repeat.  The  Increased  size  of  the  pinch 
was  not  noted  by  those  who  came  to  spend.  "And 
after  all,"  said  Philosophy's  small  voice,  "a  pinch  is 
a  pinch,  whether  large  or  small.  A  pinch  per 
drink?  Well,  a  pinch  per  drink  indeed!  And  the 
larger  the  pinch,  the  less  whiskey,  the  better  for  the 


LIFE'S   LURE  125 

spender's  well-being.  You  see,  in  the  last  analysis, 
the  larger  pinch  is  the  more  generous!" 

And  so,  another  ideal,  theoretically  in  suspension 
for  a  year,  was  lowered  by  the  length  of  a  finger's 
joint. 

There  is  a  long  and  profitable  sermon  somewhere 
in  the  fact  that  all  unnatural  appetites  decrease  with 
denial  and  increase  in  proportion  to  the  gratification 
of  them.  When  Drake  had  failed  to  satisfy  his 
dominant  hunger  for  gold,  he  fell  back  upon  the 
extreme  of  despising  it,  delighting  Devlin  with  an 
unintentionally  humorous  account  of  the  quiet  joys 
of  middle-class  integrity.  But,  once  spurred  by  cir- 
cumstance into  the  path  of  easy  wealth,  the  hunger 
came  back;  at  first  a  nibbling,  wistful  hunger,  that 
increased  steadily  with  the  accumulating  receipts  of 
the  business,  until  at  the  end  of  a  month,  it  promised 
to  become  an  unscrupulous,  barbaric  lust. 

Drake  cared  less  and  less  about  the  easy  familiar- 
ity of  the  guzzling  crowd.  Let  them  call  him  "Hun- 
gry," if  they  liked.  But  never  again  should  it  be 
biscuits  for  which  he  hungered !  Let  them  call  him 
"Hungry"  so  long  as  they  fed  his  hunger  effectu- 
ally! He  had  been  in  Hell;  this  was  Purgatory; 
and  the  key  to  Paradise — at  least,  the  Earthly  Para- 
dise— is  golden! 

In  his  letter  to  Joy,  enclosing  the  sum  borrowed 
from  Devlin,  he  had  written  the  intentionally  indefi- 
nite information:  "I  assume  control  of  the  King 
Nugget     to-morrow — a     very     rich     proposition." 


126  LIFE'S   LURE 

"She'll  never  know  It's  a  saloon,"  he  had  said  to 
himself.  "And  I  need  not  tell  her;  It  would  only 
make  her  grieve." 

The  scented  blue  missives  from  the  East  became 
more  frequent  and  peevish.  Almost  every  stage 
brought  one  now ;  and  the  burden  was  ever  the  same 
— hunger  for  the  things  that  only  gold  could  buy — 
Impatience  at  the  smallness  of  the  last  remittance. 
^^JVhen  are  you  going  to  come  hack  with  your  for- 
tune, Sam,  dearf^  The  italicized,  fretful,  oft-re- 
peated cry  goaded  Drake.  The  hungry  thumb 
crept  farther  up  the  finger.  The  pinch  became  ap- 
preciably larger  with  practice.  The  hoard  in  the 
leather  sack  that  contained  Drake's  share  of  the 
profits,  swelled  steadily.  Just  eight  months,  and  he 
would  rehabilitate  his  suspended  ideals — get  out  of 
Purgatory — be  once  more  the  old  Samuel  Drake. 
Mopping  up  the  bar,  he  dreamed  like  a  Doge! 
"Have  patience,"  was  his  brief  message  to  Joy; 
"economize,  suspend  the  love  of  enjoyment  for  only 
a  little  while,  and  I  will  come  back,  my  Own !  I  am 
winning!'* 

But  he  was  not  quite  the  old  Samuel  Drake.  He 
was  never  referred  to  as  "the  dude."  Joy  would 
have  thought  him  very  untidy.  Devlin  noted  the 
change  with  a  philosophical  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
"Sam,"  he  said  once,  "by  fall  you'll  be  as  Insatiable 
as  Crassus!"  Drake's  thin  lips  parted  in  a  gray 
smile.  "But  go  ahead,  Sam;  you're  on  the  right 
trail  at  last,  though  you  do  travel  a  bit  headlong. 


LIFE'S   LURE  127 

It's  a  precious  drunken  old  World  we  live  in !  Only 
the  sober  ones  suffer!  Drunk  with  Power,  drunk 
with  Love,  drunk  with  Art,  drunk  with  Religion, 
drunk  with  Gold — God!  how  we  reel!  Whiskey- 
drunkenness  is  the  least  refined  form — and  the 
briefest.  It's  for  the  unimaginative.  But  what  a 
head  the  dear  old  World  will  have  on  it  in  the  cold 
gray  Millennial  Dawn,  when  we  all  go  romping 
home — eh?  Well,  let  us  stay  drunk  a  while  yet. 
We  won't  go  home  till  morning.  And  we  aren't 
threatened  with  an  early  dawn! 

"In  the  meanwhile,  what  have  you  done  with  your 
fine  middle-class  sentiments,  Sam?  Sobriety  subli- 
mated! Lord!  but  you  must  have  been  sober  to 
talk  so!  I  too  have  had  my  intervals  of  sobriety. 
Do  you  remember  that  nonsense  of  mine  on  the 
stage  over  from  Deadwood?  All  that  is  what  one 
might  term  the  Philosophy  of  the  Unsuccessful.  I 
believe  I  had  a  slight  attack  of  indigestion  that  day. 

"Poverty  has  a  clever  way  of  canonizing  itself  in 
this  world.  That  is  the  secret  behind  the  Christian 
religion.  Most  of  the  world  is  wretchedly  poor, 
you  know.  And  since  one  must  somehow  be  drunk, 
the  poor  conceived  the  plan  of  getting  properly  in- 
toxicated on  the  Idea  of  the  sham  sanctity  of  having 
nothing!     A  doleful,  hymn-singing  drunkenness! 

"And  they  created  an  imaginative  limbo  of  eter- 
nal joy  for  the  express  occupancy  of  the  under-dogs 
of  the  world — an  exclusive  aristocracy  of  self-glori- 
fied ragamuffins !     That,  as  I  understand  it,  was  the 


128  LIFE'S  LURE 

f 

beginning  of  the  Church.  I  understand,  however, 
from  various  vague  reports,  that  matters  have 
changed  somewhat.  But  never  mind — take  the  aces 
and  let  the  deuces  go !" 

One  evening  the  stage  brought  a  letter  from  the 
little  woman  back  East.  It  bore  news  of  an  as- 
tounding character.  Drake  read  it  three  times  be- 
fore believing  his  eyes.  Then  he  stared  with  a 
stunned  expression  at  nothing  in  particular,  vainly 
trying  to  fit  the  news  into  his  scheme  of  things; 
which  was  very  much  like  attempting  to  accommo- 
date an  exploding  bomb  in  a  suit  case.  In  this  con- 
dition Devlin  found  him. 

*'What  the  deuce  do  you  suppose  she's  doing 
now!"  said  Drake. 

"She?  A  woman?"  said  Devlin;  *'Why,  Sam, 
the  answer  to  that  question  has  been  misplaced  these 
many  years!" 

"My  wife,  you  know,"  continued  Drake;  "read 
that!"  He  handed  the  offending  page  of  the  letter 
to  Devlin,  who  read  as  follows: 

"So  I  shall  leave  New  York  In  two  weeks,  and 
Fm  so  glad  I've  come  to  a  decision.  I  just  can't 
stay  here  and  economize.  I've  given  Marie  notice, 
and  the  poor  girl  cried,  for  I  do  believe  she  is  at- 
tached to  me.  But  I  wasn't  sure  she  could  be  ac- 
commodated out  there,  and  I  shall  try  to  attend  to 
myself.  Am  I  not  brave,  dear?  I  gave  her  sev- 
eral gowns  that  look  positively  hideous  on  me,  and 


LIFE'S  LURE  129 

they  made  her  so  happy.  Oh  yes,  Sam,  that  makes 
me  think  of  the  opera  cloak.  It  was  so  good  of  you 
to  send  all  that  money.  I  rushed  right  off  and  got 
the  sweet  thing.  Wasn't  it  lucky  that  it  hadn't  been 
sold? 

"Did  I  tell  you,  dear,  that  the  Van  Todds  have 
cut  me  ?     Cold! 

"Of  course  you  can  get  a  nice  suite  of  rooms  at 
the  hotel  there,  can't  you? 

"Oh,  won't  it  be  romantic  to  be  out  there !  And 
I'll  help  you  pick  up  the  gold!  What  a  pretty  name 
you  gave  to  your  mine !" 

Having  reached  the  end  of  the  page,  Devlin 
looked  up  at  Drake  with  a  bland  smile.  "And  what 
is  so  astounding  about  that?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  she's  coming  here — to  Bear  Gulch — bag 
and  baggage!" 

"Yes." 

"And  it's  all  wrong!  You  see,  I've  suppressed 
the  fact  that  I'm  running  a  saloon.  She  thinks  it's 
a  gold  mine " 

"And  isn't  it?" 

"What  the  deuce  shall  I  do?"  Drake  went  on. 
"Write  her  not  to  come?" 

"That  might  be  well,"  agreed  Devlin,  "and  have 
the  letter  handy  to  give  her  as  she  steps  out  of  the 
stage !  That  is  the  only  way  a  letter  is  apt  to  reach 
her,  since  she  is  starting  about  this  time.  Now 
look  here,  Sam.  There  is  something  like  Fate  in 
even  the  commonest  woman.     What  the  deuce  shall 


I30  LIFE'S   LURE 

you  do?  What  the  deuce  do  you  do  when  the  first 
robin  twitters  and  you're  not  quite  ready  for  spring? 
Or  when  the  first  thunderstorm  knocks  as  one  who 
will  not  be  denied?  You  merely  get  ready — that's 
the  answer." 

"But  if  she  had  only  been  patient  and  waited  until 
I  could  get  on  my  feet  I'* 

''And  she  hasn't!" 

"And  how  can  she  ever  stand  the  board  at  the 
Boss  Eating  House?" 

"She  shall  not!  We'll  have  a  palace  built  for 
the  Queen  of  Bear  Gulch!  And  we'll  get  a  Chink 
cook  over  from  Deadwood!  Leave  it  to  me.  It 
will  give  me  the  opportunity  of  feeling  the  domestic 
thrill  vicariously — a  safe  way!  Allow  me  the  sen- 
sation, Sam;  I  was  getting  almost  sober  enough  to 
be  bored!" 

"All  right — have  your  way,  Louis — go  ahead;  but 
don't  make  too  much  expense.  We've  got  to  be 
economical,"  Drake  answered.  "And  I  suppose 
she'll  have  to  get  used  to  the  change  as  I  have. 
Probably  it  will  do  her  good." 

The  next  morning  Devlin  rounded  up  the  failures 
of  the  camp  and  set  them  to  work  at  lavish  wages. 
A  new  log  house  took  shape  rapidly  on  the  green 
hillside  overlooking  the  town. 

As  for  Drake,  once  relieved  of  the  responsibility 
of  preparing  for  his  wife's  arrival,  he  plunged 
deeper  and  deeper  into  his  dominant  passion.    Occa- 


LIFE'S   LURE  131 

sionally,  after  a  lapse  of  hours  In  which  no  thought 
of  Joy  crossed  his  mind,  he  felt  a  twinge  of  guilt. 
"It's  almost  as  though  I  wasn't  expecting  her,"  he 
would  think;  "almost  as  though  Louis  were  the  hus- 
band and  I  the  friend.  And  yet — "  here  the  twinge 
of  guilt  ceased  " — I'm  doing  It  all  for  her.  Every 
ounce  of  gold  I  get  Is  for  her.  Only  the  true  hus- 
band could  sacrifice  as  I've  done.     And  Louis " 

Drake's  heart  warmed  at  the  thought  of  Louis. 
But  Louis  had  become  one  of  the  things  that  are — 
a  part  of  the  wall  of  the  world.  And  Drake  had 
come  at  last  to  accept  from  him  as  a  tree  accepts 
the  rain  and  the  sunlight — ^passively  grateful,  and 
without  analysis. 


One  afternoon,  quite  oblivious  of  his  labor,  Pun- 
kins  was  mentally  viewing  the  majestic  march  of  fu- 
ture events.  It  all  passed  by  him  like  an  Imperial 
triumph.  He  had  already  stepped  off  the  train  at 
Coal  City,  and  all  the  people  for  miles  around  were 
congregated  at  the  station.  Gee !  what  a  lot  of  peo- 
ple! And  how  they  shouted  when  they  caught 
sight  of  the  popular  hero ! 

The  details  were  not  carefully  worked  out.  Pun- 
kins' Imagination  was  working  with  a  big  brush,  fling- 
ing the  haughty  colors  of  triumph  with  a  broad,  mas- 
ter sweep.  But,  subsequently,  though  without  any 
definite  sequence,  he  saw  himself  riding  In  a  carriage 
with  his  mother  and  sister.  He  wore  a  tall  silk  hat 
that  glittered  with  running  perpendicular  lines  of 
light.     The  hat  was  very  plainly  sketched. 

The  Coal  City  band  went  before  with  a  martial 
stride  and  a  blare  of  brass  and  a  rolling  boom  of 
drums.  The  carriage  horses  curved  their  necks  and 
pranced.  Behind  the  carriage  followed  the  biggest 
procession  Coal  City  had  ever  seen.  The  picture 
was  not  altogether  original.  It  was  rather  a  resto- 
ration of  one  taken  from  memory — that    of    the 

132 


LIFE'S   LURE  133 

horiie-coming  of  Coal  City's  Congressman.  Only, 
the  restoration  was  much  grander  in  scale  than  the 
original. 

The  mayor  made  a  speech.  The  speech  was 
never  finished;  for  right  in  the  middle  of  it,  Pun- 
kins'  Imagination  took  to  architecture,  and  began  to 
build  a  magnificent  house.  Such  a  house  I  It  went 
up  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye !  Then  someone  spoke 
to  him — was  it  his  mother? 

Punkins  looked  up,  mopped  the  perspiration  from 
his  eyes,  and  saw,  on  the  bank  above  him,  a  young 
woman  sitting  under  a  pink  parasol.  For  a  moment 
she  seemed  to  be,  in  some  strange  way,  merely  a 
part  of  the  Imagined  picture.  Then  he  blushed. 
It  was  indeed  a  real,  live  woman,  and  a  very  pretty 
one,  Punkins  felt  in  the  first  flash  of  vague  appraisal. 
Also,  she  was  beautifully  dressed — all  fluffy  pink 
and  white,  like  the  apple  blossoms  down  on  the 
farm!  Jane,  even  in  her  Sabbath  dress,  would 
have  appeared  a  bit  dowdy  beside  her. 

The  lady  was  regarding  Punkins  with  drowsily 
narrowed  eyes,  like  a  pussy  cat  contented  in  the  sun- 
light; and  finally  she  smiled  so  winsomely,  that  Pun- 
kins felt  fluttered,  dropped  his  eyes  and  fumbled 
with  the  handle  of  his  shovel. 

"It's  a  pleasant  afternoon — isn't  it?"  said  the  lady, 
In  a  soft,  languid  voice,  with  something  like  a  purr 
in  it.  "And  you're  working  so  hard — aren't  you? 
Don't  you  get  awful  tired?" 

Punkins,  reassured  by  the  voice,  looked  up  again. 


134  LIFE'S   LURE 

and  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  unusually  rosy,  her 
lips  unusually  red,  and  that  her  hair  was  of  the  color 
of  cornfields  just  before  husking  time. 

"Oh,  not  so  very  hard,"  ventured  Punkins;  "I 
could  shovel  a  week  and  not  get  tuckered,''  he  added 
carelessly,  restoring,  with  this  evidence  of  masculine 
superiority,  a  portion  of  his  self-importance,  all  but 
effaced  by  the  sudden  pink  apparition  of  feminine 
charm. 

"Oh,  could  you?  How  strong  you  must  be!'* 
cooed  the  pink  lady  with  evident  admiration.  "It 
must  be  nice  to  be  so  strong !  Why,  I  was  just  tak- 
ing a  little  walk  through  the  pines,  and  I'm  as  tired 
as  I  can  be  already.  And  when  I  saw  you  working 
here,  I  thought  I'd  stop  to  rest  and  get  acquainted. 

"You  know  we're  all  like  one  big  family  here  in 
Bear  Gulch,  and  we  don't  feel  backward  with  each 
other.  I  hope  I  won't  keep  you  from  your  work, 
though.  I  won't  stay  long;  I  just  want  to  catch  my 
breath." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  in  no  hurry,"  said  Punkins,  sitting 
down  at  the  edge  of  his  diggings.  Picking  up  a 
handful  of  pebbles,  he  began  flicking  them  with 
great  earnestness  at  the  idle  shovel.  Conversation 
languished.  Punkins  disposed  of  several  handfuls 
of  pebbles,  feeling  uncomfortably  awkward;  and  the 
lady  studied  him  meanwhile  with  a  pleased  smile. 
Finally,  feeling  impelled  to  turn  his  eyes  upon  her, 
Punkins  looked  up,  and  was  stricken  with  confusion. 

"Guess  I'll  get  a  drink,"  he  said  irrelevantly; 


LIFE'S   LURE  135 

"want  one  too?"  He  made  for  the  tin  cup  in 
his  tent.  The  pink  lady  was  very  thirsty,  she 
alleged. 

Punklns  carefully  washed  the  tin  cup  in  the  cool 
rivulet,  filled  it,  and,  steadied  by  a  stir  of  instinctive 
chivalry  within  him,  hurried  to  her  side  with  the 
water. 

"No— }'0M  drink  first!"  urged  the  pink  lady, 
placing  a  persuasive  white  hand,  enriched  with  rings, 
upon  the  big  brown  hand  that  held  the  cup.  "You've 
been  working,  ygu  know,  and " 

"No — you — please  do — I  ain't  really  so  very 
thirsty,"  Punklns  insisted,  feeling  a  thrill  of  gal- 
lantry through  him  at  the  careless  pressure  of  the 
delicate  fingers;  "please  do!" 

Smiling  sweetly,  she  took  the  cup  and  lifting  her 
eyes  bewltchingly:  "Then  here's  good  luck  to  you!" 
she  said,  and  drank. 

Punklns'  thirst  had  left  him  suddenly.  He  sat 
down  at  a  respectful  distance  and  fell  to  plucking 
grass  blades.  Unquestionably  this  was  a  woman; 
but  how  different  from  his  mother  and  sister  and 
Bessie!  More  like  a  lady  In  a  show  down  at  the 
Coal  City  "opry  house"  !  He  felt  a  crying  need  for 
saying  something  worthy  of  her,  but  the  something 
wouldn't  come..  The  pink  lady  was  regarding  him 
with  an  amused  smile,  which  changed  suddenly  Into 
animated  Interest  as  Punklns  lifted  sheepish  eyes 
upon  her,  and  spoke  at  a  hazard: 

"Want  to  see  my  nugget?" 


136  LIFE'S   LURE 

He  went  into  his  pocket  and  produced  the  treas- 
ure for  inspection. 

"Oh  my  I  What  a  beautiful  nugget!''  cooed  the 
pink  lady,  taking  it  in  her  hand  and  turning  it 
over  and  over.  "Did  you  get  it  out  of  your 
mine?" 

"Uh  huh,"  went  Punkins,  with  a  comfortable 
feeling  of  self-importance  quite  restored.  "Got  it 
right  on  top!  Of  course,  you  won't  tell  anybody. 
It  ain't  everybody  I'd  let  know  that.  Got  to  be 
careful,  you  know." 

The  pink  lady  wouldn't  think  of  telling — of 
course  not ! 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  went  through  Punkins,  with 
the  feeling  of  having  an  important  secret  in  common 
with  a  real,  beautiful  lady. 

"What  a  pretty  thing  it  would  be  on  a  necklace !" 
she  said,  placing  it  against  the  soft  white  skin  of  her 
neck.     Oh,  such  a  round,  soft,  white  throat! 

"You  can  have  it,  if  you  want,"  volunteered  Pun- 
kins, with  a  sudden  impulse  of  generosity.  "I  wisht 
you'd  take  it!" 

Oh  no !  the  lady  didn't  want  to  take  his  nugget ! 
She  was  only  admiring  it — that  was  all.  But  Pun- 
kins was  obdurate. 

"That  ain't  nothin' !"  he  bragged;  "I've  got  a 
bushel  of  'em  here — nigh  onto  a  million  dollars' 
worth,  I  guess !     I  wisht  you'd  take  it !" 

He  pushed  back  the  delicate  white  hand,  extended 
to  return  his  gift;  whereat  the  lady  actually  yielded; 


LIFE'S   LURE  137 

and  she  would  wear  it  right  on  her  neck,  she  an- 
nounced. 

The  acceptance  of  the  gift  brought  her  infinitely 
nearer  to  Punkins.  He  sat  down  closer  to  her  and 
they  had  a  good  friendly  talk.  Little  by  little,  his 
whole  story  came  out — complete  with  all  the  charac- 
ters, save  only  little  Bessie,  who,  somehow,  never 
found  a  cue  for  entrance.  And  once,  as  he  talked 
earnestly,  the  lady  brushed  a  damp  lock  of  hair 
from  his  forehead — quite  as  though  she  were  hardly 
conscious  of  the  act.  Just  so  would  his  mother  have 
done;  and  yet — how  the  touch  of  the  soft  fingers 
went  through  him  I  It  was  a  new  and  intoxicating 
sensation. 

And  then,  at  the  completion  of  his  intimate  re- 
cital, she  told  about  herself.  She  too  had  come 
from  a  farm;  but  for  several  years  she  had  been 
doing  missionary  work  among  miners  in  the  West. 
It  was  hard  work;  it  took  her  into  such  disagreeable 
places  at  times.  But  she  didn't  complain,  accepting 
the  noble  task  with  resignation. 

When  she  had  taken  her  leave,  promising  to  drop 
in  on  him  again  sometime,  Punkins  found  that  his 
work  lagged.  Something  like  music  surged  through 
his  whole  body.  All  that  night,  waking  or  sleeping, 
the  consciousness  of  that  strange,  pulsing  music 
clung  to  him. 

He  sat  up  late  by  the  fire  and  stared  into  the 
flames.  The  Million  had  lost  something  of  its  mag- 
nificence.    It  seemed  a  very  easy  thing  to  acquire 


138  LIFE'S  LURE 

when  he  compared  it  with  the  new  glory  that  lured 
him.  He  wondered  If  the  beautiful  lady  liked  him, 
and  the  memory  of  her  finger-tips  just  brushing  his 
forehead,  made  him  hope  that  she  might. 

And  why  not,  Indeed?  Wasn't  he  a  man? 
Hadn't  beautiful  women  liked  men  often  and  often? 
And  there  wasn't  any  doubt  as  to  his  being  a  man. 
Only  the  neighbors  back  home  had  failed  to  see  It. 
The  wide  world  at  large  saw  differently.  Now 
there  was  Joel  What  had  he  said?  Why,  there 
had  evidently  been  no  doubt  in  Joe's  mind  as  to 
Punklns  being  a  real  grown  man.  And  Joe  was 
a  man  of  the  world !  And  then,  what  had  he  said 
about  girls?  Evidently  Punklns  must  have  some- 
thing about  him — something  very  attractive  to  the 
gentle  sex! 

And  then,  look  how  the  pink  lady  had  treated 
him  I  Just  like  a  man!  She  had  even  praised  his 
strength.  And  she  had  shown  pleasure  at  his  gift 
— and  took  It,  too !  And  was  going  to  wear  It  on 
her  neck !  Think  of  that!  What  do  you  think  the 
upstart  Potts  girls  would  think  If  they  could  see  the 
very  beautiful  lady  being  so  kind  to  Punklns?  H'm! 
What  did  the  Potts  girls  know  about  men! 

At  last,  little  Bessie  managed  to  enter  the  stage 
of  his  thoughts,  with  her  hair  down  her  back  In 
braids,  and  her  country  clothes  and  her  big,  trust- 
ing, cow-like  eyes!  Poor,  pathetic,  dowdy  little 
Bessie !  She  crossed  the  stage  like  a  ghost  of  some- 
thing long  dead,  and  passed  out  quietly. 


LIFE'S   LURE  139 

Punkins  summoned  up  the  Million  as  an  ally,  and 
it  fought  well  in  the  ranks  of  his  Dream.  On  the 
Dream  surged,  like  a  charmed  host  overpowering 
the  Improbable.  Once  more  he  alighted  at  the  Coal 
City  station;  once  more  he  rode  in  the  carriage  be- 
hind the  band,  crowned  with  the  high-light  glories 
of  the  tall  silk  hat.  But  this  time  a  lady  In  pink 
and  white  rode  beside  him — radiant,  just  like  a 
story-book  queen ! 

She  had  asked  him  to  call  her  "Nellie,"  if  he 
liked.  He  lulled  himself  to  sleep  with  the  music  of 
her  name. 

The  next  morning  he  arose  with  a  haunting 
sense  of  shame.  It  seemed  like  sacrilege,  in 
the  gray  hour  when  the  pulse  is  slowest,  to  have 
been  so  intimate  with  the  pink  lady,  even  in 
imagination.  And  perhaps  after  all,  she  had 
meant  only  to  be  kind.  And  then — she  might  he 
married! 

Punkins'  heart  throbbed  with  the  possible  trag- 
edy. She  might  be  the  wife  of  that  pretty  gentle- 
man with  the  curly  black  hair  and  the  white  face ! 
But,  whatever  else  she  might  be,  the  pink  lady  was 
a  saint!  Punkins  was  sure  of  that.  The  thought 
offered  further  discouragement.  And  then,  mis- 
sionaries were  probably  just  like  that  to  everybody 
in  the  world.  Maybe  it  was  their  business  to  be 
that  way. 

Punkins'  heart  ached.  He  could  get  little  work 
done,  because  he  was  obliged  to  spend  so  much  time 


I40  LIFE'S   LURE 

scanning  the  trail  for  a  pink  parasol.  And  the  lady 
didn't  return  that  day. 

The  burning  night  passed,  and  the  dawn  was 
ashen. 

But,  oh  wonder!  Nellie  did  return  that  after- 
noon! And  how  friendly  she  was !  And  she  wore 
his  nugget  right  on  her  neck !  It  was  suspended  by 
a  little  gold  chain  I  Happy,  happy  nugget,  to  touch 
such  a  sacred  throat ! 

To  Punkins,  all  women  were  projections  of  his 
mother  and  sister,  the  holy  vessels  of  the  world's 
goodness.  This  was,  indeed,  the  generic  truth;  un- 
fortunately, it  was  not  the  specific  fact.  A  dozen 
placer  camps  had  known  Nellie  for  one  of  the  com- 
mercial products,  duly  priced  in  the  world's  great 
catalogue  of  things  salable.  But  even  if  Punkins 
had  been  told  of  her  ancient  trade,  the  thing  would 
have  been  Incomprehensible  to  him.  Punkins  was 
woman-bred ! 

Nellie  called  often,  after  that,  at  the  camp  on 
upper  Potato  Creek,  and  Punkins,  who  rarely  went 
to  Bear  Gulch  except  for  mail  and  provisions,  grew 
to  hang  nervously  upon  her  coming.  She  rapidly 
became  a  habit,  and  in  the  course  of  her  frequent 
visits,  the  development  of  familiarity  did  not  lag. 
The  farmer  boy  was  so  sensitive  an  Instrument  to 
play  upon. 

And — at  last — one  evening — Nellie  had  stayed 
much  later  than  usual,  and  the  dusk  had  fallen 

Punkins  kissed  her! 


LIFE'S   LURE  141 

He  never  knew  just  how  the  wonderful  thing  had 
happened.  Her  face  had  been  very  close  to  his. 
He  knew  only  that  it  had  lured  him  magnetically — 
that  fair  face  blooming  indistinctly  in  the  dusk;  that 
the  whole  world  seemed  shaken  with  a  whirlwind; 
that  giddy  flame-things  wove  fantastic  brilliancies 
about  her.  And  then — ^warm  wet  lips  sucked  up 
the  world  of  sense! 

Punkins  walked  half-way  home  with  Nellie  that 
night — under  stars  that  swarmed  giddily  just  above 
the  soaring  pine  tops.  And  that  night  by  his  fire 
he  poured  out  a  flaming  soul  to  his  mother.  It  was 
truly  a  wonderful  letter — all  compact  with  the  glo- 
ries that  wreathe  life  in  the  prospect,  and  soften  the 
bitter  smile  of  the  graveward  bound,  pausing  at  the 
brink  for  the  last  wistful  backward  gaze. 

The  charmed  pencil  told  all  about  it.  Punkins 
was  engaged!  How  Mother  and  Jane  would  love 
her — she  was  so  good  and  beautiful!  And  he 
would  very  soon  go  at  the  sluicing  of  his  pay-gravel. 
He  had  done  a  lot  of  work  already.  And  then, 
when  he  had  sluiced  and  panned  all  his  gravel,  he 
would  have  a  million  dollars;  and  Nellie  and  he 
would  be  married;  and  then  they  would  go  home 
together — and  oh,  how  happily  they  would  all  live 
after  that ! 

"You  know,  Mother,"  he  wrote,  impelled  by  the 
pathetic  little  ghost  of  Bessie  floating  wide-eyed 
through  his  dream — "you  know,  Bessie  wouldn't 
ever  be  the  wife  for  me!" 


142  LIFE'S   LURE 

Punkins  neglected  to  write  that  his  funds  were 
running  dangerously  low.  Nellie,  had,  of  course, 
needed  some  money  for  preparations,  and  he  had 
given  liberally,  forced  her  to  take  his  gift.  When 
he  had  finished  his  letter,  he  counted  the  money  he 
had  left.  The  seven  hundred  dollars  had  become 
five !  The  fact  frightened  him — but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. A  man  who  was  engaged  and  who  had  a 
million  dollars  in  sight,  hadn't  much  right  to  be 
discouraged.  However,  he  resolved  to  push  the 
work  a  little  faster. 

He  was  not  yet  satisfied  with  the  amount  of 
gravel  uncovered.  One  week  more  would  increase 
the  ultimate  glory.  So,  well-grounded  in  his  rights 
of  a  man,  he  toiled  valiantly.  Nellie  was  often  with 
him,  especially  in  the  evenings;  and  it  had  become 
their  habit  to  stroll  .together  in  the  starlight  back 
toward  Bear  Gulch,  arm-in-arm,  talking  over  the 
future. 

One  evening  Nellie  did  not  appear  at  the  accus- 
tomed time.  Punkins  paced  nervously  up  and  down. 
He  was  like  a  sick  man  who  misses  the  regular  dose 
of  sedative,  upon  which  he  has  come  to  depend.  An 
hour  passed.  He  began  imagining  calamity.  Had 
he  hurt  her  feelings  the  last  time?  What  had  he 
done  to  offend  her — or  said?  He  could  think  of 
nothing.  Could  it  be  that  she  loved  someone  else 
more  than  him?  The  little  man  with  the  curly 
black  hair,  for  instance? 

He  was  seized  with  a  fury  of  jealousy — he  felt 


LIFE'S   LURE  143 

murderous.  The  fury  increased  the  vividness  of  a 
tentative  picture — the  small  curly-headed  man  kiss- 
ing Nellie! 

It  was  a  close,  hot  evening.  Low  thunder  boomed 
sullenly  far  away.  No  wind  stirred.  The  hush 
was  electric.  "It's  going  to  storm,"  thought  Pun- 
kins.  The  thought  blurred  the  hideous,  tentative 
picture.  She  was  only  afraid  of  the  storm — that 
was  all.  Why  did  it  have  to  storm?  A  new  form 
of  jealousy  leaped  into  being.  She  feared  the 
storm  more  than  she  loved  him  I  The  thought  put 
Nellie  in  a  disappointing  light.  But  perhaps  after 
all  it  wasn't  the  storm.  Perhaps  it  was  another 
man!  Punkins'  strong  fingers  writhed  at  an  Imag- 
inary neck ! 

Nellie  had  asked  him  never  to  come  to  see  her 
at  Bear  Gulch.  "I'd  rather  love  you  in  the  woods," 
she  had  explained;  "because  you're  like  the  trees 
and  flowers — don't  you  know  why?"  Punkins 
didn't  know  why,  and  she  had  kissed  him  so 
passionately  that  he  had  forgotten  to  push  the 
answer. 

"Perhaps  she's  sick,"  he  thought  by  way  of  waiv- 
ing her  Injunction;  "and  I'd  ought  to  go  and  see 
her."  He  walked  rapidly  down  the  trail,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  listen  for  footsteps ;  but  his  expec- 
tant heart  filled  the  hush. 

The  dusk  had  fallen  and  momently  deepened. 
Sheet  lightning  played  far  off  across  the  black  sum- 
mits. 


144  LIFE'S   LURE 

Presently  he  thought  he  heard  voices.  He 
stopped  stock  still,  but  the  sweltering  hollow  of  the 
night  was  empty,  save  for  the  beating  of  his  heart 
and  the  drone  of  bugs. 

No !  He  heard  the  scurrying  of  feet.  His  heart 
leaped  with  joy.  But — no — someone  was  talking — 
a  man*s  voice — no 


Suddenly  around  the  bend  of  the  trail  the  figure 
of  a  woman  loomed  against  the  sky,  momently  bril- 
liant with  a  flash  of  light.     It  was  Nellie. 

''O  Nellie!  Nellie!"  cried  Punkins,  seizing  her 
in  his  arms;  "I  thought  you  was  scared  of  the  storm 
and  wouldn't  come!" 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  with  a  hot  open 
mouth  breathed  a  kiss  into  his  ear.  "I  love  you," 
she  panted;  and  the  words,  though  heard  so  often 
before,  sent  a  vague  new  something  like  terror 
through  him. 

They  reached  the  tent  in  the  gloom.  Above 
them,  through  the  rifts  in  the  black  pines,  they  saw 
the  vanward  tentacles  of  the  clouds  reaching  out 
raggedly.  A  blue  deluge  of  electric  brilliance 
drenched  the  night,  and  the  dark  shuddered  tingling 
back.  They  went  into  the  tent,  and  Punkins  lit  a 
candle. 

"Close  the  flaps  tight,"  said  Nellie.  "Oh,  shut 
out  everything — I  want  just  you !" 

"You're  hoarse,  Nellie,"  said  Punkins,  having 
closed  the  tent — "you've  caught  cold — and  you've 
got  a  fever!" 


LIFE'S   LURE  145 

"Have  I?"  she  said,  smiling  sadly.  "No,  I 
haven't: — am  I  beautiful?" 

She  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  all  the 
world,  Punkins  alleged,  attesting  the  fact  with 
kisses. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  tired — so  tired  of  everything  but 
you,  dear,"  crooned  Nellie,  languidly  nestling  her 
head  In  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  "Stroke  my  hair — 
so.  Now  I'm  a  little  girl  again — and  you're  my 
father — and  it's  almost  bedtime."  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  nestled  closer.  "No — I'm  your  little  wife 
— just  a  little  sick  and  sad — and  I  want  to  be 
petted — and  told  how  beautiful  I  am — shall  I  sing 
to  you?" 

"Yes — sing,"  whispered  Punkins.  "Oh,  you're  so 
beautiful,  Nellie!" 

In  a  low  contralto  she  began  to  croon : 

*^I  can  not  sing  the  old  songs 
I  sang  long  years  ago; 
For  heart  and  voice  would  fail  me, 
And  foolish  tears  would  flow '* 


She  broke  off  in  a  little  sob,  and  tears  crept  out 
under  her  eyelashes.  Punkins,  strangely  moved, 
drank  them.  "Nellie,  Nellie,"  he  whispered  ten- 
derly, "you're  not  happy — what's  wrong,  Nellie 
dear?" 

"Oh,  it's  the  storm  coming,  I  guess,"  she  mut- 
tered brokenly;  "I  wish  it  would  tear  the  whole 


146  LIFE'S   LURE 

world  up  and  set  It  on  fire — and  kill  us  together — 
and  then  we'd  sleep  together  forever  and  ever  and 
ever — oh,  you  don't  know — you're  so  good  and 
young — and  everything's  new  to  you " 


''/  can  not  sing  the  old  songs; 
They  are  too  dear  to  me 


The  low  plaintive  air  began  again  brokenly,  the 
contralto  voice  growing  deep,  and  full  of  tears. 

*^For  bygone  hours  come  o^er  my  heart 

With  each  familiar  strain; 
I  can  not  sing  the  old  songs, 

Nor  dream  those  dreams  again, 
I  can  not  sing  the  old  songs 

Because  my  voice  is  cracked  I" 

She  broke  the  melancholy  refrain  with  laughter, 
just  as  Punkins  felt  the  hot  tears  coming.  With  the 
wriggling  movement  of  a  snake,  she  slipped  from 
his  arms,  and  grasping  his  throat  with  her  fingers, 
she  set  her  teeth  sharply  into  his  neck.  "I  love 
you — I  love,  love,  love  you!"  she  hissed  in  his  ear. 
Then,  with  her  hands  pressed  gently  to  his  cheeks, 
she  held  him  at  arm's  length,  regarding  him  with 
half-shut  eyes,  her  head  thrown  slightly  back,  her 
full  red  lips  parted. 

The  lad's  eyes  drank  In  the  flushed  face  and  red 
mouth  and  the  full  white  throat,  like  a  wine,  that 


LIFE'S   LURE  147 

made  the  blood  thunder  at  his  temples.  Some  sub- 
tle intoxicant  seemed  to  be  flowing  from  the  hot, 
moist  hands  that  pressed  his  cheeks.  The  world 
fell  away;  and  in  the  midst  of  a  void  the  flushed 
face  bloomed — a  crimson  flower,  exhaling  madden- 
ing odors,  and  swaying  in  an  eternal  wind.  Her 
voice  droned  on,  like  a  voice  in  a  fever-dream,  while 
her  eyes  changed  lights  like  a  hungry  cat's. 

"You  dear,  dear  goosie — I  want  you — all  of  you 
— now — don't  you  know?  Oh,  you're  so  different 
— so  young  and  fresh  and  clean — and  I'm  ten  thou- 
sand years  old  at  least!" 

Her  breast  was  heaving,  her  voice  was  low  and 
vibrant. 

*'I  want  to  be  young  once  more — once  more — like 
the  hills  when  they're  rained  on !  Take  me  now — 
there's  no  to-morrow — there's  nothing  but  you  and 
I — close,  close  together — alone — ^just  you  and  I — 
my  husband — take  me — torture  me — the  world  ends 
to-night !  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  I  mean !  To- 
night I  am  beautiful — I  know  I  am  beautiful  to- 
night— and  to-morrow  there  will  be  no  Nellie — only 
a  painted  skeleton  dancing  and  singing  because  it 
can't  remember  how  to  cry!  Quick! — before  it's 
all  gone — kiss  me !  No — no—"  she  gasped,  as  the 
lad  sprang  toward  her  with  wild  dilated  eyes  and 
crushed  her  in  his  arms;  ^^not  on  the  mouth — on  the 
throat — the  neck — hurt  me " 

A  crash  of  thunder  shook  the  earth,  and  a  vivid, 
quivering,  violet  light  filled  the  tent.     A  sudden  rush 


148  LIFE'S   LURE 

of  wind,  the  first  of  the  mountain  storm,  grasped 
the  canvas  and  shook  it,  sucking  out  the  candle. 
Abandoned  limply  to  his  clutching  arms,  she 
breathed  deliriously  in  his  ear:  '7  love  yoii — love 

you '' 

The  storm  burst.  The  tall  pines  groaned  and 
shrieked  in  the  blast,  and  the  hills  bayed  in  thunder. 
A  deluge  of  rain  walled  out  the  world. 

Half  aroused  from  the  swooning  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion, Punkins  felt  the  young  dawn  on  his  face  and 
opened  his  eyes.  The  tent  flap  was  pinned  back, 
and  the  fresh  breath  of  the  wet  forest  came  in. 

A  bird  questioned  the  woodland  silence  with  a 
bubbling,  reiterated  note.  The  odor  of  rain-steeped 
wild  flowers  was  abroad  in  the  world. 

And  then — the  memory  of  Nellie  came,  like  sad 
sweet  music  ebbing. 

She  was  gone. 


VI    " 

Several  weeks  passed. 

Punkins  could  no  longer  defer  his  realization  of 
the  imminent  glory,  though  he  should  have  liked  to 
uncover  ever  so  much  more  pay  gravel  before  lift- 
ing the  Veil.  But  he  had  lately  come  to  feel  a  need 
for  haste. 

A  letter  from  his  mother,  filled  with  a  strange 
mingling  of  trusting  love  and  nervous  dread,  had 
doubtless  done  much  to  develop  an  unpleasant, 
haunting  impatience  in  him.  It  was  evident  that  she 
had  not  intended  to  discourage  her  boy;  on  the 
contrary,  the  letter  was  one  long,  clinging  embrace. 
Only  it  had  in  it,  somehow,  the  tone  of  one  who  is 
parting  from  a  very  dear  thing.  Punkins  could 
almost  see  her  weary,  unenthusiastic  eyes  yearning 
from  the  scrawled  page.  And  yet,  evidently,  she 
had  received  his  letter  about  Nellie !  How  strange 
that  she  had  not  caught  the  electric  thrill  of  his 
soul's  outpouring !  But  not  a  spark  had  been  struck, 
so  far  as  the  letter  showed !  All  was  gray  and  ashen 
in  the  passage  that  referred  to  his  engagement. 
Punkins  was  vastly  disappointed. 

"Dear,  dear  boy,"  went  the  blotted  scrawl  of 
149 


150  LIFE'S   LURE 

toil-stiff  fingers;  "you  was  very  happy  when  you 
wrote,  and  Mother  understands.  But  don't  be  in 
a  hurry.  Your  Pa  and  me  waited  six  years  before 
we  was  married.  I  know  you  are  a  man  now,  though 
I  do  forget  it  sometimes.  But  don't  forget  Mother 
and  Jane.  And  you -must  pray  every  night.  The 
Lord  will  guide  you  if  you  go  to  him  in  prayer. 
Oh,  my  own  boy,  you  need  Him  so  much  right  now." 

"Poor  little  Mothie,"  thought  Punkins;  "it's  the 
hard  work  and  the  skimping  to  get  along  that  makes 
her  that  way." 

How  necessary  money  was!  Why,  to  have 
money  was  to  remain  young!  One  got  such  sad 
eyes  without  It  I  His  mother,  for  instance.  The 
need  of  money  had  made  her  unable  to  feel  how 
beautiful  Nellie  was!  He  had  written  her  of  a 
miracle,  and  she  had  remained  unmoved.  "Poor 
little  tired  Mothie!"  said  Punkins  aloud,  with  that 
pity  which  accompanies  a  sense  of  superior  strength. 
"Well,  she'll  get  young  again  and  rested  when 
Nellie  and  me  comes  home  rollin'  in  gold,  I  guess !" 

The  letter  rambled  on  into  a  gray  account  of  dis- 
mal facts.  Mother  was  doing  plain  sewing.  She 
had  made  three  dollars  the  last  week.  Jane  was 
working  for  the  Pottses 

What! 

Punkins'  blood  boiled  with  wrath.  For  the 
Pottses!  The  stuck-up  things!  "By  God!"  he  ex- 
claimed aloud  for  the  mountain  hush  to  hear — "I'll 
show  them  Pottses  how  they  can  hire  my  sister!" 


LIFE'S   LURE  151 

" — for  a  dollar  a  week  and  board,"  the  letter 
went  on;  "and  we're  so  glad,  because  it  makes 
things  so  much  easier." 

Punkins  laughed  aloud — the  triumphant  laugh  of 
the  soon-to-be  avenger  of  insults.     A  dollar  a  week  I 

"I'll  show  the  Pottses,  by  God  I"  he  muttered. 
And  having  finished  the  letter,  he  immediately  went 
to  work  making  a  dam  across  the  little  rill,  pre- 
paratory to  setting  up  the  sluices;  for  he  had  come 
to  believe  that  a  cradle  would,  after  all,  be  too 
slow. 

He  worked  prodigiously,  flinging  into  the  task 
his  anger  at  the  unsuspecting  family  of  Potts.  Just 
wait  until  he  got  his  dam  built  and  his  sluices  going 
— wouldn't  he  show  them  all,  though?  How  would 
they  like  the  look  of  a  million  dollars  or  so?  "You'll 
hire  my  sister  and  boss  her  around — will  you?" 
The  half-articulate  words  came  with  his  heavy 
breathing,  as  he  plied  pick  and  shovel  furiously. 

"By  God,  I  can  buy  you  all  up  and  sell  you  for 
old  rags — do  you  hear?" 

All  day,  wielding  pick  and  shovel,  he  revelled  in 
the  luxury  of  righteous  wrath;  and  the  stony  soil 
received  vicariously  the  lusty  blows  rained  upon 
the  upstart  family  of  Potts. 

The  evening  came  too  soon  for  Punkins;  and  he 
was  reluctant  to  quit  work  when  the  night  shut  in. 
The  physical  expression  of  his  anger  having  ceased, 
he  was  immediately  set  upon  by  gloomy  forebod- 
ings, that  goaded  his  sense  of  the  need  for  haste. 


152  LIFE'S   LURE 

Nellie  had  not  been  at  the  camp  on  upper  Potato 
Creek  since  the  night  of  the  thunderstorm.  At 
first,  he  had  been  vaguely  grateful  for  her  non-ap- 
pearance ;  for  he  had  hardly  known  how  to  appraise 
the  thing  that  had  happened.  Was  it  a  great  joy? 
It  somehow  made  him  sad.  Was  it  a  great  sorrow 
— this  thing,  the  bashful  memory  of  which  made 
his  heart  leap  so  wildly?  And  so,  for  several  days, 
he  had  vacillated  between  a  wish  to  see  her  and  a 
curious,  self-denying  dread  lest  he  might. 

But  further  days  wiped  out  the  dread,  and  the 
wish  survived.  The  dusk  of  evening  was  electric 
as  with  the  imminence  of  her,  and  when  he  awak- 
ened in  the  dawn,  the  odors  of  the  dewy  forest  sent 
through  him  vaguely  the  sad,  sweet,  ebbing  music 
that  was  Nellie. 

What  was  wrong  with  the  world,  anyway?  Here 
was  a  weary,  ashen-eyed  little  mother  who  saw 
nothing  in  the  glory  of  love ;  and  here  was  a  sister — 
and  never  a  better  sister  in  the  world — who  was 
slaving  for  people  beneath  her.  And  then — had 
Nellie  forgotten  him?     My  God!  had  she? 

The  self-propounded  question  was  tor  readily  an- 
swered, and  with  such  cruel,  vivid  pictures.  Punk- 
ins  saw  the  dapper  little  man  with  the  white  face 
and  the  black  curly  hair,  kissing  Nellie!  Why  al- 
ways that  man?  The  very  tenacity  with  which  the 
suspicion  clung  to  him,  argued  for  belief — an  odd 
but  convincing  logic! 

And  then — that  night  of  the  storm,  when  he  had 


LIFE'S   LURE  153 

started  In  search  of  her — hadn't  he  heard  a  man's 
voice?  He  felt  sure  of  It  now,  though  he  had  been 
in  doubt  at  the  time.    Well — whose  voice  was  that? 

Oh,  just  let  Punklns  get  at  the  little  pup !  Just 
let  him  get  at  that  white  face — biff,  biff — right  be- 
tween the  eyes!  Punklns  would  show  him  how  to 
kiss  Nellie!  By  God,  he  would!  "I'll  spoil  that 
pretty  face  for  you !"  exclaimed  Punklns  aloud.  And 
at  the  sound  of  the  words,  he  was  smitten  with 
shame.  For  why  should  he  mistrust  Nellie? 
Weren't  they  really  married  already?  Hadn't  she 
said  so — or  had  she  sung  it  in  his  ear — "It's  our 
wedding  night"?  And  often  she  had  called  him 
husband. 

Well,  if  they  were  married,  how  could  the  dap- 
per little  man  kiss  her?  Of  course,  that  was  absurd, 
when  you  came  to  think  about  it!  When  a  lady  is 
married,  only  her  husband  ever  kisses  her!  If  that 
wasn't  so,  why  did  people  get  married?  People 
got  married  so  that  they  could  kiss  just  one  person 
forever  and  ever! 

A  definition  has  an  undeniable  comforting  power 
of  its  own ;  and  Punklns,  having  defined  matrimony, 
felt  greatly  comforted.  Yet  that  didn't  obliterate 
the  fact  that  she  stayed  away.  What  could  be  the 
matter?  Had  he  been  too — too — Intimate  with  her? 
Sort  of  taken  advantage  of  her  in  some  way?  Was 
she  angry — or  only  very,  very  sorry — disappointed 
in  him? 

Question  followed  question,  and  a  question  Is  a 


154  LIFE'S   LURE 

mental  mist.  Punklns  went  to  bed  quite  befogged. 
It  seemed  that  nothing  in  the  world  worked  quite  as 
it  should.  For  the  first  time,  he  heard  the  dust- 
choked  voice  of  the  Sphinx  of  Human  Life.  And  it 
seemed  that  only  one  answer  could  propitiate  the 
Sphinx;  and  that  answer  was  "Money I" 

Money  I  How  the  mist  was  cleft  by  the  magic 
syllables!  Money!  It  would  humble  the  Pottses, 
punish  the  impudence  of  Deacon  Brown,  free  Jane 
from  bondage,  clothe  Mother  in  the  raiment  of  a 
queen,  drive  the  ashen  weariness  from  her  eyes, 
making  her  young  again,  and  keen  for  the  percep- 
tion of  glories.  And  oh,  whatever  might  be  wrong 
with  Nellie,  it  would  give  her  to  him  forever  and 
ever! 

So  he  would  not  worry  about  Nellie.  He  would 
not  worry  about  anything.  With  two  dollars  in  his 
pocket — which  was  all  that  remained — Punkins  felt 
vulnerable  enough.  But  just  wait!  Only  a  few 
days,  and  he  would  be  invincible ! 

A  day  and  a  halt  more  suffi  jd  to  finish  the  dam 
across  the  little  run,  and  so,  at  noon  of  the  second 
day,  Punkins  was  ready  for  the  sluice-boxes.  Half 
way  down  the  trail  toward  Bear  Gulch,  there  were 
some  old  boxes  on  a  deserted  placer  claim,  and  Punk- 
ins set  forth  to  get  them. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  burro  would  come  in 
well  on  the  job ;  so  he  decided  to  hunt  up  the  burro. 
"I'll  just  sled  'em  up  the  hill,"  he  thought. 

Now  Christmas  was,  at  that  time  of  day,  very 


LIFE'S   LURE  155 

busy  doing  nothing;  for  the  sun  was  so  hot  on  the 
hillside  that  he  found  even  grazing  a  game  decidedly 
not  worth  the  candle.  Lying  on  the  shady  side  of 
a  clump  of  bushes,  with  his  long  ears  drooping  and 
his  tail  switching  only  when  the  flies  at  his  back  be- 
came intolerable,  he  was  gazing  with  half-shut  eyes 
down  across  the  steep  slope  that  ended  at  Bear 
Gulch,  where  shovels  and  picks  rose  and  fell  cease- 
lessly in  the  sweltering  glare  of  afternoon.  Christ- 
mas was  in  a  state  of  philosophical  satisfaction  with 
his  condition  in  life.  He  was  enjoying  donkeyhood 
immensely.  Doubtless  he  was  thinking:  *'How  silly 
men  are!  Always  rooting  things  up  and  packing 
them  around  to  put  some  place  else!  Why  don't 
they  all  be  donkeys?"  Here  he  flicked  a  fly  from 
his  flank  with  the  precision  of  long  practice.  "And 
how  miserable  they  must  be  without  tails!  Hello F^ 
Christmas  opened  his  eyes  and 

"with  motion  dull 

Upon  the  pivot  of  his  skull 
Turned  round  his  long  left  ear!" 

Punkins  with  outstretched,  propitiatory  hand  was 
approaching  cautiously  across  the  flower-sprinkled 
open,  drooping  with  heat. 

"Oh,  hell!"  thought  Christmas;  "here  we  are 
again!  Another  man's  got  it  in  his  head  that  some- 
thing ought  to  be  where  it  isn't!  The  wilderness 
forme!" 


156  LIFE'S   LURE 

But  Punkins  had  chased  recalcitrant  animals  be- 
fore, and  his  proceeding  in  this  case  demonstrated 
that  mastery  which  comes  of  forgotten  experience. 
For  at  the  instant  when  Christmas  was  disappearing 
around  the  clump  of  brush,  Punkins  dashed  in  and 
firmly  seized  the  brute's  tail.  The  effect  was  elec- 
trical. Christmas,  having  an  engagement  some- 
where In  the  depths  of  the  greenwood,  had  not  the 
leisure  to  pause  and  Inquire  what  the  unbidden  guest, 
with  his  hand  at  the  knocker,  might  want.  He 
therefore  supplanted  courtesy  with  haste.  Braying 
a  definitive  statement  to  the  effect,  doubtless,  that 
he  was  not  at  home  to  anyone  at  that  hour,  he  set 
off  at  a  lively  and  steadily  Increasing  gallop. 

Now  there  is  a  class  of  things  which,  having  once 
been  taken  up,  cannot  so  readily  be  laid  down.  The 
tail  of  a  donkey,  with  a  pressing  engagement,  is  one 
of  them. 

Punkins  clung. 

With  a  long,  bouncing  stride  he  persisted  in  his 
attachment  to  the  fugitive  actuality.  They  cleared 
the  open  at  a  swishing  pace,  and  entered  the  pine 
forest,  hushed  in  the  heat  of  afternoon.  To  the 
philosopher,  the  spectacle  would,  perhaps,  have  sug- 
gested the  infatuation  of  an  inexperienced  soul  for 
an  Impossible  ideal;  though  the  factual  aspect  pre- 
sented rather  the  case  of  a  badly  balanced  kite, 
spitefully  mistreating  an  abbreviated  tail. 

Christmas  proceeded  to  play  "wood-tag"  with 
himself.  In  and  out  among  the  tree-trunks — a  pro- 


LIFE'S   LURE  157 

ceeding  In  which,  naturally,  his  tail  took  an  impor- 
tant part.  In  the  parlance  of  the  boys  back  at  the 
old  district  school,  Punkins  was  *'It.'*  Having 
bounded  from  this,  he  struck  that. 

Now  in  the  ancient  game  of  "wood-tag,"  It  is  per- 
missible that  one,  who  wearies  temporarily  of  the 
play,  may  cross  his  feet  or  his  fingers,  and  cry 
*'King's  X!"  whereupon  he  Immediately  becomes 
immune  to  the  mystic  power  of  the  "tag."  This, 
though  It  has  probably  never  been  adequately  ex- 
plained. Is  so,  as  almost  any  child  will  attest  Christ- 
mas, however,  was  a  burro.  Wishing  to  quit  the 
game,  and  not  being  proficient  in  the  rules,  he  hit 
upon  an  expedient  as  direct  as  it  was  primitive.  He 
spied  a  close  thicket,  and  made  for  it  with  a  honk  of 
triumph.  Any  beast  will  testify  to  the  efficiency  of 
a  close  thicket  for  removing  flies  and  other  tenacious 
objects. 

In  another  moment  Punkins  bounced  very  high 
and  came  down  chair-side  first  in  the  midst  of  the 
brush.  With  a  baffled  grin  he  sat  for  a  moment  and 
stared  at  his  hands,  which  no  longer  held  the  tail, 
it  having  followed  its  owner. 

Punkins  got  up,  shook  himself,  and  relinquished 
the  Idea  of  further  pursuit.  "I  guess  I  can  pack 
'em  up  on  my  back!"  he  muttered;  and  set  out  for 
the  deserted  placer  claim. 

He  had  gone  some  distance  through  the  pine  hush, 
when  he  heard  voices  and  stopped  to  listen.  One 
was  the  voice  of  a  man,  who  was  evidently  making 


158  LIFE'S   LURE 

some  passionate  remarks,  to  which  the  faltering, 
lower  voice  of  a  woman  responded  at  Intervals. 

A  man  and  a  woman!  Now  there  was  only  one 
woman,  and  so  beautiful  was  she  that  it  was  quite 
Inconceivable  that  the  whole  world  should  not  love 
and  desire  her.    That  woman  was  Nellie. 

The  little  green  snake  of  jealousy  lifted  Its  head 
and  hissed  somewhere  deep  down  In  Punklns.  Get- 
ting to  his  hands  and  knees,  and  struggling  to 
breathe  without  a  sound,  he  crawled  stealthily 
toward  the  voices.  They  came  from  behind  a  swing- 
ing wall  of  vines  that  fell  from  a  tree  trunk,  mak- 
ing a  natural  bower.  Punklns  reached  the  wall  of 
vines  and  peered  through.  At  the  first  glimpse,  his 
heart  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  a  shuddering 
chill  ran  through  his  body — the  chill  of  a  murder- 
ous Impulse. 

He  saw  the  dapper  little  man  with  the  white  face 
and  the  black  curling  hair  I  The  woman — and 
Punklns  felt  certain  It  was  Nellie — was  hidden  from 
view.    The  little  man  was  talking. 

Jealousy  Is  one  of  those  luxuries  which  are  en- 
joyed most  when  most  agonizing,  and  Punklns  re- 
strained himself  that  he  might  know  the  whole  hell- 
ish story  of  Infidelity.  The  substance  of  the  little 
man's  talk  was  of  that  variety  which  Is  profoundly 
sublime  to  two,  may  be  tragic  to  the  third,  but  to 
the  fourth  Is  quite  apt  to  be  farcial. 

"You  aren't  bound  to  him  in  the  eyes  of  God,"  the 
little  man  was  saying  In  a  low,  passionate,  stage 


LIFE'S   LURE  159 

voice.  "You're  mine,  and  have  been  so  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  and  I  Intend  to  have  you  I  Look 
at  me,  dearest  one  in  the  world!  Oh,  in  the  blue 
depths  of  your  eyes" — Nellie's  eyes  were  blue,  and 
the  word  stabbed  the  eavesdropper — "old  dreams — 
such  purple,  ancient  dreams — come  back  and  look 
out  at  me.  And  I  hear  the  broken  music  of  what 
once  was  life  with  you — somehow,  somewhere. 
How?  Where?  I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  I 
love  you,  have  loved  you  always,  have  sought  for 
you  through  space  and  eternity — cried  out  your 
name  In  a  thousand  forgotten  tongues!  You  must 
come  away  with  me  now.  We  have  met  again,  and 
nothing  shall  ever  part  us.  When  I  saw  you  at 
Deadwood — do  you  remember  the  blessed  mo- 
ment?— I  did  not  begin  to  love  you — I  only  re- 
membered suddenly!  Ah — Babylon,  Nineveh, 
Persepolls — where  was  it  that  I  kissed  you  last 
— lost  you?  And  then — quite  prosaically — I  find 
you  at  Deadwood,  more  beautiful  and  dearer 
than  of  old.  And  we  merely  go  away  together — 
that  is  all!" 

"But  Louis,  O  Louis !"  the  faltering  woman-voice 
broke  In;  "it  would  break  his  heart — what  shall.  I 
do  ?  How  could  I  ever  fancy  that  I  loved  him  ?  O 
Louis — I  love  youf* 

The  little  man  laughed  derisively. 

"Break  his  heart?  His  heart  is  made  of  gold! 
See  how  he  drudges  for  It  and  neglects  you !  Why, 
he  would  sell  you  bit  by  bit  for  the  stuff!" 


i6o  LIFE'S   LURE 

'7/^5  a  damned  lieP*  shrieked  Punkins,  bursting 
wildly  from  cover. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  come  in  view  of  the  hith- 
erto invisible  lady,  than  he  stopped,  staring  aghast 
at  the  very  frightened  face  of  one  who  decidedly 
was  not  Nellie! 

Punkins,  with  a  sheepish  look,  made  the  first  mo- 
tion, beginning  to  back  away. 

"And  to  what  are  we  indebted  for  the  honor  of 
your  company?"  said  the  little  man  quite  coolly. 

"I — I — I  didn't — mean  nothin',"  faltered  Punk- 
ins. "I — I — I  was  just  a-lookin'  for  a — a  donkey 
— and — and " 

"And  quite  naturally  mistook  my  voice  for  the 
bray!"  finished  the  little  man.  "I  am  immensely 
flattered!  But  you  have  ruined  a  very  dramatic 
situation  by  the  singular  abruptness  of  your  man- 
ner !  You  see,  Mrs.  Drake  and  I  are  preparing  for 
an  amateur  theatrical — a  show,  you  know — and  we 
came  up  here  to  rehearse.  It's  a  love  story,  you 
know,  and  we  had  just  reached  the  most  tense  situ- 
ation when  you  arrived.  Might  I  venture  to  ask 
you  your  critical  opinion  upon  the  delivery  of  the 
lines?" 

"I — I — I  dunno — I  think  it's — awful  nice — I — 
I " 

Punkins  fled. 


VII 


Rarely  is  a  man  made  happy  by  the  consciousness 
of  having  made  a  fool  of  himself.  But  with  Punk- 
ins  It  was  so.  There  could  no  longer  be  any  suspi- 
cion of  Nellie.  Evidently,  the  little  man's  attention 
was  considerably  occupied;  and  where  In  Bear 
Gulch  was  another  man  to  be  found  with  sufficient 
personal  charm  to  win  her? 

"It  wouldn't  've  done  him  no  good  if  he  had 
tried  to  get  her!"  muttered  Punklns.  And  he  set 
up  a  merry  whistle  as  he  pushed  on  through  the 
woods  toward  the  deserted  placer  claim.  "Show 
man — eh?"  he  soliloquized.  "Just  what  I  thought! 
Looks  like  a  show-actor!  But  ain't  it  funny,  though? 
He  did  seem  like  he  was  dead  in  earnest,  and  she 
was  cryin'  real  as  could  be !  She  must  be  a  pretty 
good  show  actor  too!  And  he  kissed  her — a  sure 
enough  kiss!  Cracky!  I  bet  that  '11  be  a  good 
show,  and  I'm  a-goin' !" 

He  set  up  the  merry  whistle  again,  feeling  ex- 
pansive and  very  safe. 

"Mrs.  Drake,  eh?"  he  mused  aloud,  having  ex- 
pressed a  great  wave  of  joy  with  his  gusty  music. 
"Must  be  the  saloon-keeper's  wife  that's  come  out 
West  to  him.  H*m!  I  guess  I  wouldn't  want  Nellie 

i6i 


i62  LIFE'S   LURE 

to  go  show-actin' !  It's  all  right  for  other  folks  to 
make  the  shows,  but  Fd  rather  take  Nellie  to  see 
'em!'' 

"Poor  little  innocent  Nellie,"  thought  Punkins, 
with  a  twinge  of  mingled  shame  and  sorrow.  "I 
was  awful  mean  to  go  thinkin'  about  her  like  that. 
W'y,  I'd  ought  to  be  horse-whipped  for  thinkin'  that 
way." 

But  it  was  hard  to  see  why  the  little  man  hadn't 
tried  to  get  Nellie;  and  he  was  surely  very  hand- 
some— so  handsome,  indeed,  that  one  could  hardly 
have  blamed  any  woman  for  liking  him !  Under  the 
circumstances,  Punkins  could  afford  to  feel  very  gen- 
erous and  friendly  toward  the  little  man.  Praise  of 
one's  possible  but  unsuccessful  rival  reacts  pleasantly 
upon  the  victor. 

When  he  reached  the  deserted  claim,  he  found 
that  the  boxes  weren't  at  all  heavy.  Why,  just  look 
how  easy  it  was  to  get  one  to  his  shoulder!  Just 
as  easy!  And  he  could  walk  right  along  under  the 
load,  and  hardly  pant  at  all!  But  he  was  willing  to 
bet  that  the  little  man  couldn't  do  that!  He  could 
act  shows,  probably,  well  enough;  but  Punkins  felt 
reasonably  sure  he  wasn't  stout.  "I  guess  that's 
what  takes  with  women-folks,"  he  thought;  ''bein' 
good  and  husky!  Gee!  I  could  pack  two  of  'em  at 
once!" 

It  required  all  the  balance  of  the  day  to  transport 
the  boxes  up  the  trail ;  and  Punkins  never  slept  bet- 
ter than  he  did  that  night. 


LIFE'S   LURE  163 

Dawn  again — and  what  a  happy,  well-regulated 
world  It  Illumined  I  Now  for  the  final  master  touch 
before  the  dropping  of  the  Veil ! 

Punklns,  whistling  merrily,  fell  to  the  task  of  ad- 
justing the  sluice  boxes  so  that  the  water  from  the 
dam  would  run  through  them.  The  task  was  ac- 
complished at  midday.  He  took  a  generous  noon- 
ing, and  cooked  up  as  good  a  meal  as  he  could  with 
his  limited  rations  and  skill.  In  the  awful  pause  be- 
fore victory,  let  us  feast  that  we  may  be  fortified 
against  the  burst  of  glory!  There  Is  something  ter- 
rible about  grasping  at  the  garment  of  a  Dream  and 
finding  It  real. 

The  droning  of  the  water  through  the  boxes  was 
sweet  to  hear.  After  he  had  eaten,  Punklns  sat 
long  and  gave  himself  over  to  the  luxury  of  the 
sound.  He  set  the  old  dream  to  Its  music;  and  the 
pictures  grew  in  wonder  until  he  could  no  longer 
delay,  but  sprang  up,  seized  a  shovel  and  began 
throwing  gravel  Into  the  boxes. 

Plump !  Splash !  You'd  better  look  sheepish. 
Deacon  Brown!  Thought  you  was  awful  smart, 
didn't  you?  Oh,  you  needn't  wiggle  your  old  goat's 
beard  and  squint  so!  It's  gold,  all  right!  Walk 
right  up.  Bill  Haines,  and  take  a  peep  in !  Oh,  you 
don't  see  nothin'  but  rocks,  hey?  Well,  you're  just 
an  old  clod-jumper,  and  you  don't  know  much  about 
placer  minin',  I  guess !  But  I  ain't  holdin'  no  grudge 
against  you,  Bill !  Just  go  and  ask  the  feller  at  the 
Coal  City  Bank  who  paid  off  your  mortgage,  if  you 


1 64  LIFE'S   LURE 

don't  believe  me !  Yes,  Mother,  It's  right  in  the  bot- 
tom of  them  boxes  now — in  them  little  holes  there ! 
Gold  is  so  heavy  it  drops  to  the  bottom  and  the 
holes  catches  it.    See  them  rocks  roll  out  I 

W'y,  Mother,  nary  a  one  of  them  shovels  but 
would  buy  you  a  dozen  new  dresses!  Silk  ones! 
Stick  your  nose  up  as  high  as  you  want,  Jane !  Them 
Pottses  is  only  poor  folks — common  poor  folks! 
Plump !    Slosh ! 

How  much  did  you  say  it  would  take  to  build 
your  new  church,  Deacon?  What?  Two  thousand 
dollars?  H'm!  Take  fifty  thousand  and  make  it 
a  joedandy  with  fandangoes  all  over  it!  I  ain't 
holdin'  nothin'  against  you,  nor  nobody!  Plump! 
Slosh!  Splash! 

Punkins  shovelled  merrily,  muttering  the  while 
disjointed  sentences  of  triumph. 

Night  already !  Gee !  How  the  time  flies  when  a 
man  is  making  money  hand  over  fist! 

Now  do  you  suppose  there  was  any  likelihood  of 
someone  sneaking  up  in  the  night  and  robbing  his 
boxes?  Punkins  got  his  gun  in  shape,  cocked  it,  and 
placed  it  within  easy  reach.  H^'d  just  like  to  see 
anybody  try  to  rob  him!  "I  guess  they'd  get  some- 
thing!" he  said  aloud.  *'Just  let  'em  come  on  and 
try!" 

There  were  so  many  startling  noises  in  the  woods 
that  night  that  he  got  only  a  wink  of  sleep  now  and 
then.  But  a  wealthy  man  was  obliged  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout.     One  couldn't  ever  tell  what  a  poor 


LIFE'S   LURE  165 

man  would  do  for  money !  The  dawn  was  a  great 
relief  to  Punkins. 

Once  more  the  music  of  the  eager  water,  roll- 
ing down  the  pebbles!  All  day  it  continued.  But 
when  the  evening  came,  Punkins  began  to  worry 
about  leaving  his  accumulated  wealth  another  night 
in  the  boxes.  Shucks !  What  was  the  use  sluicing  it 
all  at  once?  Probably  there  wasn't  any  more  than 
fifty  or  seventy-five  thousand  dollars'  worth  in  there 
yet,  but  he  was  going  to  have  some  sleep  that  night; 
and  he  was  going  to  have  his  money  right  close  to 
him  where  it  would  be  safe. 

He  turned  off  the  water  and  lifted  the  screens 
from  the  boxes,  carefully  saving  every  little  cluster  of 
sand.  Then  he  took  his  pan  and  scraped  it  full  of 
the  precious  sediment  that  clung  to  the  bottom.  Sit- 
ting down  by  the  water,  he  began,  with  a  feeling  of 
awe  amounting  almost  to  fright. 

Slowly  the  pebbles  were  eliminated.  The  pan 
washed  clean,  with  the  exception  of  a  half  dozen 
microscopic  yellow  flakes. 

How  did  that  happen?  Punkins  held  his  breath 
and  stared  at  the  pan.  Could  it  be  possible — surely 
it  could  not  be  possible — that  his  claim  was  no 
richer  than  that?  Yet — there  was  some  gold  in  the 
pan 

Feverishly  and  with  trembling  hands  he  again 
filled  his  pan.  This  time  not  even  a  microscopic 
color  appeared. 

Punkins  was  dazed.    With  wild  haste  he  washed 


1 66  LIFE'S   LURE 

out  pan  after  pan.  Once  he  found  a  piece  of  the 
size  of  half  a  grain  of  wheat — and  nothing  after 
that. 

In  the  matter  of  fitting  us  to  its  Procrustean  bed, 
the  World  begins  by  stretching  us  too  much,  and 
ends  by  hacking  us  off  to  a  convenient  fit. 

The  night  fell. 

Punklns,  shorn  of  his  glory,  doubled  up  over  the 
empty  pan  and  sobbed  unmanfully.  Finally  he  got 
up  and  staggered  to  his  tent.  He  built  a  fire  and 
huddling  up  beside  it,  he  tried  to  explain  away  the 
catastrophe  that  had  befallen.  BUI  Haines  and  the 
Deacon  grew  up  wonderfully  clear  before  him.  He 
could  almost  hear  Bill  saying,  'What  did  I  tell 
you?"  The  Deacon  smiled  a  wan,  superior,  churchy 
smile. 

At  last  Punklns'  gaze  fell  upon  a  newspaper  that 
he  had  thrown  carelessly  aside.  So  deeply  had  he 
been  interested  in  his  work  that  he  had  not  even 
broken  the  cover.  In  fact,  Coal  City  and  the  Cor- 
ners had  grown  farther  away  from  him  since  Nellie 
came  into  his  life.  But  now  it  all  rushed  back  upon 
him — the  deep-rooted  love  of  home. 

The  paper,  which  was  the  Coal  City  Clarion,  be- 
came to  him  a  sort  of  fetish,  representing,  as  it  did, 
so  many  dear  old  memories — oh,  such  old  memories 
they  were  now! 

He  opened  the  paper,  and  at  once  his  eyes  fell 
upon  his  own  letter,  printed  conspicuously  upon  the 
first  page.     It  was  pompously  prefaced  by  the  edi- 


LIFE'S   LURE  167 

tor  himself.  Punklns  was  represented  as  the  county's 
most  promising  son,  of  whom  all  were  justly  proud. 

He  could  not  finish  reading  the  letter.  Every 
lying  word  of  the  wretched  thing  pained  him  like  a 
knife  thrust.  He  threw  the  paper  Into  the  fire  and, 
falling  upon  his  face,  wept  again. 

Suddenly  the  thought  of  Nellie  came  to  him  with 
soothing.  At  least,  she  remained  to  him — his  dar- 
ling Nellie.  He  thought  of  her  as  he  used  to  think 
of  his  mother.  He  got  up,  possessed  by  a  wild  de- 
sire to  see  her  at  once,  to  feel  her  comforting  arms, 
her  kiss.  She  would  not  be  angry  with  him  for  com- 
ing to  her  when  she  saw  all  his  misery.  He  must 
touch  Nellie  again  at  once.  Surely  after  that  he 
would  feel  strong,  and  could  go  on  with  the  work 
again.  He  wouldn't  let  himself  be  discouraged  any 
more.  He  might  yet  strike  It  rich.  Other  men  had 
done  so.  But  just  now  he  wanted  Nellie  more  than 
anything  else  In  the  world. 

Hurrying  down  the  mountain  trail,  he  entered 
the  town.  The  hour  was  late.  All  the  miners' 
shacks  were  dark;  but  in  the  Bonanza  Dance  Hall 
the  lights  burned  brightly.  It  now  occurred^  to 
Punklns  that  he  did  not  know  in  which  house  Nellie 
stayed.    Someone  in  the  dance  hall  might  know. 

Snatches  of  maudlin  song  and  the  sound  of  heavy 
boots  beating  out  a  measure  came  to  Punklns 
through  the  open  door.  Going  up  to  a  window,  he 
peered  in. 

How  merry  the  world  was !    It  was  laughing  and 


i68  LIFE'S   LURE 

singing,  seeming  to  know  nothing  at  all  about  mis- 
ery. A  crowd  of  staggering  miners  had  formed  a 
swaying  ring,  in  the  midst  of  which  some  woman, 
dressed  in  a  gaudy,  diaphanous  garment  that  left 
little  to  the  imagination,  was  giving  a  song  and 
dance. 

"For  Fm  a  married  lady, 
Don't  you  knowf 

The  woman's  voice,  hoarse  with  intoxication, 
soared  drunkenly  above  the  coarse  laughter  of  the 
men  and  the  clatter  of  sympathetic  boot-heels.  Punk- 
ins  stared  horrified,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
face  of  the  woman  who  could  do  that.  Could  it  be 
Mrs.  Drake?  Quite  probably  it  was,  Punkins 
thought.  He  had  a  vague  notion  that  show-acting 
and  this  sort  of  thing  had  a  way  of  going  together. 
He  remembered  that  show-actors  were  not  generally 
commended  back  home.  And  anyway,  a  woman 
who  could  kiss  a  man  who  wasn't  her  husband — 
even  in  a  show — would  probably  do  most  anything. 
He  stared  hard,  trying  to  catch  a  fair  glimpse  of  the 
woman's  face. 

Faster  and  faster  she  danced,  her  thin  garments 
weaving  a  transparent  haze  about  her.  And  then — 
the  ring  broke  before  a  sudden  chasse,  and  with  a 
triumphant  crowning  effort,  the  dancer  leaped  into 
the  air,  and  with  the  tip  of  her  slipper  kicked  the 
hat  off  the  head  of  Monte  Joe  I 

Joe  forthwith  embraced  her,  covering  her  with 


LIFE'S   LURE  169 

maudlin  caresses.  A  roar  of  drunken  mirth 
went  up. 

Punkins  had  seen  Nellie's  face ! 

A  second  later,  a  white-faced,  wild-eyed  lad  burst 
through  the  open  door  and,  with  a  savage  cry, 
planted  his  fist  in  the  middle  of  Monte  Joe's  face. 
The  man  went  down  sprawling.  A  melee  ensued. 
Swinging  frantic  blows  at  the  face  of  any  man  he 
saw,  Punkins  fought  wildly. 

He  could  not  remember  just  how  he  got  Into  the 
street  again.  The  fact  was  that  he  had  been  helped 
out  by  an  alliance  of  a  dozen  vigorous  boots.  But 
when  he  came  to  himself,  he  was  crawling  in  the 
dark. 

He  got  to  his  feet  unsteadily.  The  din  of  a 
rough-and-tumble  fight  came  from  the  dance  hall.  It 
was  evident  that  the  sudden  eruption  of  Punkins 
among  the  drunken  crew  had  stirred  up  trouble; 
just  as  a  dog  flung  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  into  a 
canine  gathering  may  precipitate  a  general  entangle- 
ment. 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  pistol  restored  Punkins' 
sense  of  fear.  A  knot  of  brawling,  cursing  men 
came  tumbling  through  the  door.  Forgetting  all 
else  in  his  shattered  nervous  condition,  Punkins  took 
to  his  legs.  He  was  well  up  the  trail  toward  his 
camp,  when  he  heard  frantic  cries  behind  him.  Fear- 
ing to  be  overtaken,  he  crawled  into  a  thicket  and 
tried  to  suspend  the  noisy  operation  of  breathing. 

The  sound  of  rapidly  approaching  feet  came  up 


I70  LIFE'S   LURE 

the  trail.  Nearer,  nearer  came  the  sound.  With 
his  heart  pounding  violently,  Punkins  peered  out, 
and  in  the  starlight  saw  Nellie,  laboring  at  a  dog 
trot  up  the  steep  incline.  Her  hair  was  blowing  in 
the  night  wind,  her  flimsy  garment  floated  like  star- 
sheen  about  her.  Punkins  crawled  out,  and  running 
to  her,  threw  his  arms  about  her. 

"Darling,  darling!"  sobbed  Nellie,  wrought  up 
to  the  pitch  of  tears.  "Oh,  they're  shooting  each 
other  down  there,  and  hell's  to  pay,  and  Pm  going 
with  you!    Oh,  won't  you  take  care  of  me?" 

Punkins  drew  her  close  to  him,  his  tears  flow- 
ing freely.  "Nellie,  O  my  darling,  my  own  dear 
little  Nellie,  why  did  you  ever  go  and  do  it?" 
he  blubbered,  already  forgiving  her  in  a  flood  of 
love. 

"I  had  to!"  gasped  Nellie;  "Monte  Joe  made  me 
— I  owe  him  a  lot  of  money — a  thousand  dollars — 
it  was  to  bury  my  poor  mother  with — and  he  made 
me  drink  a  glass  of  whiskey — and  oh — how  can  you 
ever  care  for  me  again!  Can't  you  buy  me  away 
from  him? — That's  why  I  didn't  come  to  see  you — 
I  was  so  ashamed!  Oh,  get  the  money  for  me— 
you'll  have  a  million  soon,  and  you'll  never  miss 
it " 

Punkins  went  limp. 

"My  mine,"  he  gulped — "it*s  nothin'  but 
rocks" —  His  voice  broke  into  an  unmanly  squawk. 
"I've  got  two  dollars.  But  I'll  go  and  get  my  gun!'* 
he  said,  feeling  once  more  the  strength  of  a  man. 


LIFFS   LURE  171 

"And  I'll  shoot  him  dead!  By  God,  I  will  I  Le* 
me  go!    Le'  me  go,  I  tell  you!" 

But  Nellie  clung  desperately  to  him.  "They'd 
hang  you!"  she  pleaded. 

Punkins'  stormy  intention  subsided  at  the  gloomy 
picture.  The  night  was  very  calm;  stars  twinkled 
sleepily  above  the  still  pines.  Down  in  Bear  Gulch 
the  sound  of  riot  had  died  away,  and  it  was  clear 
that  in  the  excitement  of  the  time,  the  maudlin  crowd 
had  overlooked  the  real  cause  of  the  trouble. 

It  was  very  sweet  to  live,  now  that  he  had  Nellie 
to  himself  again — out  in  the  big  secret  protecting 
night.    He  was  twenty  years  old. 

They  walked  on  toward  his  camp. 

"I  know  how  you  can  get  even  with  him,"  began 
Nellie  in  a  calmer  mood. 

"How?"  Punkins  asked  eagerly. 

"And  get  the  thousand  too,"  she  continued;  "but 
you  wouldn't  do  it — not  even  for  me." 

"Darling  Nellie,"  urged  Punkins,  "I'd  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  for  you,  and  you  know  I  would!" 

"Monte  Joe's  got  a  rich  claim  over  on  Alder 
Gulch,  and  to-morrow's  clean-up  day.  I  heard  him 
say  so  to-night.  Well" —  Nellie  hesitated,  gazing 
appealingly  into  the  serious,  starlit  face  of  the  lad. 
"Well,"  she  continued  after  he  had  kissed  her,  "take 
a  grub  sack — scrape  his  boxes.  His  last  clean-up 
was  a  thousand.  They're  all  drunk  down  there  to- 
night— it'll  be  easy." 

A  hideous  temptation  sent  sudden  fever  through 


172  LIFE'S   LURE 

the  blood  of  the  lad.  A  thousand  dollars !  It  was 
bigger  now  than  the  million  had  been  a  few  days 
before.  And  Joe  insulted  Nellie !  But  he  had  never 
stolen  in  his  life.     Would  it  be  stealing — really? 

Nellie  anticipated  the  question.  "It  isn't  stealing 
to  take  from  a  man  like  that,"  she  argued,  pressing 
her  warm  body  closer  to  Punkins.  "And  he  cheated 
you  on  your  claim — didn't  he  rob  you?  Why,  he 
bragged  about  it  to  me  several  days  ago,  and  ever 
since  I've  been  planning  how  we  could  get  even.  I'll 
show  you  his  claim." 

Punkins  felt  a  giddy  rush  of  blood  to  the  head. 
The  night  swam.  Revenge !  He  saw  himself  steal- 
ing noiselessly  through  the  dark  to  Joe's  claim.  He 
saw  himself  quietly  lifting  the  screens  from  the 
sluice-boxes,  scraping  the  precious  stuff  into  a  sack. 
He  saw  himself  panning  it  out  next  day  on  his  own 
claim.  How  could  anyone  ever  know  that  he  hadn't 
gotten  it  from  his  own  diggings? 

'^ListenF^  he  whispered;  "did  you  hear  that?  I 
thought  I  heard  something — there  in  the  bushes! 
Didn't  you?  I  guess  I  just  thought  so.  Nellie — 
darling,  beautiful  Nellie — Fll  do  it  for  you — by 
God  I  wilir 


VIII 

"Yes,  Pete,"  said  Mrs.  Wooliver,  as  she  worked 
out  her  bread  for  the  pans;  'Til  marry  you  almost 
any  time  now,  after  I  get  my  bakin'  done  and  get 
things  rid  up;  though  I'd  ought  to  make  over  my 
pink  muslin  first.  Pink's  nice  for  weddings — don't 
you  think? — because  getting  married  is  a  young 
business,  no  matter  when  you  do  It.  I  wore  pink 
when  Pa  and  me  was  married. 

"No — go  'long  with  you — I  ain't  got  time  now! 
Well — If  It's  got  to  be  done — Oh,  Pete — ^you're  just 
— like  a — boy !  There  now !  Nothing  spoils  bread 
like  neglectin'  It.  You  got  to  'tend  to  It  like  a  sick 
baby.  And  that's  why  I  always  say,  Show  me  a  bad 
bread-maker,  and  I  know  where  there's  a  woman 
that  ain't  a  good  mother.     You  can't  miss  It,  Pete  I 

"To-morrow?  No,  I  got  a  washin'  to  do  to- 
morrow. It  wouldn't  do  to  start  out  married  with 
a  lot  of  dirty  sheets  and  things.  And  Ironin'  comes 
next  day — and  lawsy!  next  day  I  got  a  lot  of 
darnin'  to  do  up.  But  the  next  day — I  guess  I  can 
make  over  my  pink  muslin  of  nights — yes,  next  day, 
I'll  have  time. 

173 


174  LIFE'S   LURE 

*' — There  now!  YouVe  got  dough  all  over  you! 
And  you  don't  seem  to  care  a  bit !  Gracious,  Pete ! 
Don't  men  need  lookin'  after,  though!  And  it's 
your  good  clothes  too!" 

Mrs.  Wooliver  found  a  brush  and  fell  to  remov- 
ing the  dough  marks  from  Pete's  coat. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  proud  of  you,  Pete,"  she  went  on, 
''because  you  ain't  been  drunk  nor  shot  anybody 
up  all  this  time !  And  I  knowed  you  could  keep 
from  it  if  you  was  a  mind !  And  with  what  we've 
saved  up,  we  can  get  a  little  farm  back  East,  and 
raise  vegetables  and  chickens  and  things.  And 
Christmas'll  come  in  handy  about  the  place.  I 
wouldn't  want  to  go  away  without  him.  W'y,  he'd 
bray  his  heart  out !  There  you  are !  Now  Pete,  do 
take  care  of  your  clothes!  What?  Oh,  yes,  of 
course  you  can  go  and  have  a  little  good-bye  spree 
with  the  boys — only  don't  shoot  'em  up!  If  you 
do,  it's  all  off  between  us,  Pete.  It  ain't  Christian. 
Thou  shalt  not  kill,  you  know.  But  there  ain't  any 
commandment  against  gettin'  a  little  tight  now  and 
then,  though  it  ain't  a  good  thing,  of  course.  W'y, 
Pa  was  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever  was,  and  some- 
times even  he'd  come  home  a  bit  tipsy.  And  he 
was  the  best-humored  when  he  was  that  way! 
Lawsy!  I  used  to  laugh  until  I'd  pretty  near  cry. 
Good !  W'y,  when  he  come  home  like  that,  he'd  pile 
up  the  woodbox  and  fill  everything  with  water  and 
make  a  pile  of  shavin's  for  morning.  He  couldn't 
do  enough  for  me,  and  jokin'  me  all  the  time!     I 


LIFE'S   LURE  175 

always  said  men  ought  to  have  something  wrong 
about  'em  somewhere;  'cause  there's  so  much  that's 
big  and  fine  and  strong  about  'em  that  they'd  be  sort 
of  nasty  nice  If  they  wasn't  a  wee  mite  wrong  some 
way.  Go  'long  now,  and  promise  you  won't  go  to 
shootin',  and  don't  spend  too  much.    You  promise?" 

Pete  promised. 

"And  say,  Pete,"  she  added  as  he  was  moving 
away;  ^'better  watch  the  pinch  when  you  pay  for  the 
drinks!  They  say  Sam's  gettin'  mighty  near  In  his 
dealln's.  Just  keep  your  eye  on  his  fingers.  It's 
too  bad  If  It's  so;  'cause  Sam  seemed  like  an  awful 
nice  boy  when  he  come,  though  he  was  a  bit  too  pale. 
Poor  boy!  Like  as  not  he's  worryin'  all  the  time 
about  the  future — bavin'  money  enough,  you  know. 
He's  got  a  powerful  extravagant  woman.  W'y,  Pete, 
she's  got  'ten  best  dresses,  and  I'm  sure  any  one  of 
'em  cost  nigh  onto  ten  dollars !  And  she  wanted  to 
hire  me  to  help  her  put  'em  on !  I  told  her  I  never 
had  no  trouble  gettin'  Into  my  clothes,  and  I  reck- 
oned she  could  get  Into  her'n.  Did  you  ever  hear 
the  like?  And  now  I  hear  It's  to  be  a  Chinese  cook 
from  Deadwood — though  they  do  say  It  ain't  Sam 
that's  payin'  for  It  all.  They  say  Sam's  awful  close 
with  his  money,  and  It's  his  pardner  that  pays.  And 
It  ain't  right,  even  If  they  be  such  close  pardners.  I 
declare,  the  goln's  on  I've  seen !  Sometimes  I  think 
it's  my  duty  to  tell  Sam,  but  I  don't  like  bein'  nosey. 
And,  after  all,  a  body  ought  to  be  careful  what  they 
say  about  a  woman.     W'y,  folks  could  've  talked 


176  LIFE'S   LURE 

about  you  and  me !     Gracious !     My  bread's  got  to 
go  into  the  oven  right  off!" 

It  was  the  afternoon  previous  to  the  night  of  the 
rough  and  tumble  fight  at  the  Bonanza,  which  is 
recorded  in  the  annals  of  Bear  Gulch  as  "the  night 
of  the  big  row." 

Pete  had  not  been  seen  in  Bear  Gulch  since  the 
day  of  his  defence  of  innocence  in  general  and  of 
Punkins'  innocence  in  particular.  He  now  returned 
with  a  goodly  sack  of  gold  dust  and  some  accumu- 
lated virtues,  both  of  which,  together  with  himself 
and  his  future,  had  been  offered  to  Mrs.  Wooliver 
and  had  been  accepted. 

He  entered  the  King  Nugget  adorned  with  a 
smile. 

"Hello,  Pete!"  cried  the  loungers  in  chorus. 
"What  you  been  doin'  with  yourself?"  inquired  one. 

"Oh,  diggin*  a  few  clean  years  out  of  the  scenery 
hereabouts,"  drawled  Pete,  approaching  the  bar. 
"Nose  up  to  the  trough,  gentlemen — I'm  goin'  to 
set  'em  up;  and  it's  the  last  time  old  Pete  '11  ever 
poison  you!" 

"Bound  for  the  States?"  inquired  Drake,  as  he 
prepared  the  glasses. 

"Yes,"  said  Pete,  staring  through  the  questioner, 
as  one  who  sees  a  vision;  "back  to  God's  country 
— back  where  the  cows  bawl  in  the  pastures  of  an 
evening." 

He  drank  his  glass  with  the  rest. 


LIFE'S   LURE  177 

"Fill  'em  up  again,  Sam,"  he  said  musingly.  "Is 
everybody  drinkin'  ?" 

He  turned  about,  and  saw  Monte  Joe  hanging 
back. 

"Draw  up!  Draw  up,  Monte!  And  get  your 
hog's  snout  into  the  slop!"  urged  Pete.  "Don't  be 
so  damned  ticklish  about  drinkin'  with  your  betters. 
I  own  I  meant  to  kill  you  some  rainy  day  when 
work  was  slack;  but  I've  changed  my  mind.  That's 
right — another  one  for  Joe!" 

The  second  drink  warmed  Pete  up  after  his  long 
abstinence. 

"Yes,  I  did  swear  off,"  he  went  on,  "and  it  goes, 
too.  But  when  a  man  is  killed,  he  gen'rally  makes  a 
kick  or  two  before  he  lets  go.  That's  me.  Sandy 
Pete's  givin'  his  last  kick,  and  to-morrow  there  won't 
be  no  Sandy  Pete — only  a  Mr.  Peter  Johnson, 
farmer  by  trade,  by  God!" 

He  produced  his  sack  of  gold  dust,  and  set  It 
down  on  the  bar  before  him. 

"That's  my  homestake!"  he  announced.  "I've 
been  a  month  a-gettin'  it,  but  I've  been  twenty  odd 
year  a-knowin'  It  when  I  got  It !  And  just  as  soon 
as  God  A'mighty  '11  let  me,  I'm  goin'  to  turn  it  into 
a  piece  of  ground,  and  go  prospectin'  for  potatoes ! 
And  I'm  goin'  to  hunt  up  an  old  cow  that  can  bawl 
like  our  old  cow  used  to  when  I  was  a  youngster, 
thirsty  for  spring  water !  I  don't  give  a  cuss  about 
her  bein'  a  good  milker!  I  want  a  cow  that's  got  a 
yoke  like  the  old  times!     Ain't  It  a  funny  thing. 


178  LIFERS   LURE 

though? — set  'em  out  again,  Sam — ain't  It  damn 
funny,  though,  how  the  memory  of  a  raw-boned  old 
brindled  cow's  mooln'  can  change  a  man  after 
twenty-five  year? 

" — That's  right,  don't  laugh,  Monte!  Laughin' 
sometimes  makes  a  man  die  of  choke-to-death  I 
Worse  'n  fish-bones,  sometimes !  A  man's  got  to  be 
awful  careful  about  his  laughin' ! 

"Remember  how  the  bees  hummed  in  the  clover 
patch  back  of  the  house  when  you  was  a  shaver?" 
asked  Pete,  finishing  his  third  glass,  and  addressing 
the  universe.  "And  do  you  mind  the  smell  the  old 
plow  used  to  dig  up  out  of  the  ground  when  you  was 
walkin'  In  your  Adam's  socks  in  the  furrow — eh  ? 
Set  'em  out  again,  Sam — for  the  house,  the  whole 
damned  world!  There's  goin'  to  be  a  Mrs.  Peter 
Johnson,  farmer's  wife,  as  soon  as  she  can  get  a 
pink  dress  made!" 

This  announcement  produced  the  usual  effect — 
congratulations  with,  doubtless,  that  Inexplicable 
substratum  of  tacit  pity. 

"Yes,"  he  elucidated,  "Ma  Woollver  and  me  's 
goin'  to  tie  up  for  good,  and  a  better  woman  never 
baked  a  biscuit.  None  of  your  damned  frills  and 
fandangoes  about  Ma — ^just  plain,  good  human 
bread-and-butter — that's  all!" 

The  return  treats  began  to  come  thick  and  fast. 
By  nightfall  It  began  to  appear  that  Sandy  Pete  was 
dying  hard,  leaving  the  bucolic  Mr.  Peter  Johnson 
to  kick  his  heels  rather  long  at  the  mystic  door  of 


LIFE'S   LURE  179 

second  birth.  The  fiddles  had  begun  in  the  dance 
hall,  and  the  crowd,  lured  by  the  sound,  began  to 
thin  out. 

"There  you  go!"  blubbered  Pete,  balancing  him- 
self like  a  sailor  on  a  heaving  deck.  He  slouched 
to  a  bench  and  sat  down.  "There  you  go — there 
you  go — fiddle  and  dance — fiddle-dee-dee,  and  the 
devil  to  pay  at  last!  We're  a  town  of  fools,  all 
mad  for  the  damned  yellow  stuff  heaved  straight  up 
from  Hell !     And  Fm  a-goin'  to  leave  you ! 

"Fiddle — and — dance — fiddle — and — dance,"  he 
droned,  keeping  time  to  the  apparent  motion  of 
things.  "Lordy,  Ma,  ain't  I  got  a  load  on,  though? 
— full  to  the  ears — and  I  can't  get  In  the  wood  and 
water  and  shavin's  to-night!  But  it's  my  last  one, 
and  old  Sandy  Pete's  dyin'  for  sure  this  time.  Go 
ahead  with  your  pink  dress.  Ma — Fm  all  right,"  he 
whispered  in  the  mysteriously  serious  manner  of  the 
well-liquored. 

The  mirth  and  music  In  the  dance  hall  grew  dim- 
mer and  dimmer  to  Pete,  as  he  passed  swooningly 
away  Into  a  green  land  of  peace  and  plow-smells 
and  mooing  cows. 

Mrs.  Wooliver  sat  up  very  late  that  night  over 
her  pink  dress,  and  talked  to  herself  as  she  worked 
on  It.  "I  wonder  If  he'd  like  it  made  with  a  big 
sash  to  tie  behind?  Pa  used  to  like  'em — I  wisht  I 
could  get  some  rooshing  for  the  neck — I  do  hope 
that  man  won't  go  drink  too  much — Fd  ought  to 
told  him  not  to  drink  any.     No — it  ain't  right  to 


i8o  LIFE'S   LURE 

be  too  hard  onto  a  man — he'd  like  rooshing,  I  know 
— and  you  can't  drive  a  hog  into  a  gate  by  beatin'  it 
and  jawin' — I  wonder  if  there's  goin'  to  be  enough 
goods  since  I've  growed  so  stout — but  you  can  coax 
one  into  a  key-hole,  pretty  near — not  that  a  man's 
anything  like  a  hog — now  this  '11  make  the  front  of 
the  skirt — which  he  is  in  some  ways 

*' Gracious  meF'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Wooliver,  get- 
ting to  her  feet. 

From  the  dark  hillside  opposite  the  town,  the 
long-drawn  bray  of  Christmas  filled  the  night  with 
mourning. 

"He's  right  over  near  Pa's  grave,"  she  muttered, 
pressing  her  face  to  the  window-pane  and  peering 
out.  "I  do  wish  he'd  quit — makes  me  all  unstrung. 
Pshaw!  What  does  a  burro  know  about  the  fu- 
ture?" 

She  sat  down  again  and  began  singing  aloud  that 
she  might  not  hear  the  melancholy  voice,  prognos- 
ticating woe. 

"I  do  wish  Pete  was  here,"  she  thought,  singing 
louder  and  making  the  rockers  of  her  chair  creak 
on  the  knotty  floor.  ''I  wonder  if  he's  about  to 
get  into  trouble.  Pshaw!  I  act  like  he  was  a 
baby!  He'll  take  care  of  himself!"  she  said 
aloud,  breaking  off  the  song  and  taking  hold  of 
herself. 

"Now  if  I  use  this  for  the  front  and  this  for  the 
back " 

At  that  moment  the  row  broke  out  at  the  Bonanza 


LIFE'S   LURE  i8i 

Dance  Hall.  A  medley  of  wild,  hoarse  voices 
drowned  out  the  doleful  braying  from  the  hillside. 

'' There P'  gasped  Mrs.  Wooliver;  "It's  come! 
Oh,  I  do  hope  Pete  ain't  In  It!" 

She  rushed  to  the  door  and  peered  up  the  dark 
street. 

"No,  It's  In  the  Bonanza,"  she  muttered  to  her- 
self. "Pete  wouldn't  go  there  and  us  a-goln'  to  be 
married — he  wouldn't  do  that,  even  If  he  was  hog 
drunk!" 

She  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  her  pink 
dress.  But  the  fighting  crowd,  tumbling  through 
the  door,  filled  the  dark  street  with  curses  and 
shouts,  as  friend  struck  friend  and  went  down  under 
another  friend's  fist,  only  to  rise  and  swing  blindly 
at  the  nearest  moving  shadow. 

"It's  In  the  street  now!"  gasped  Mrs.  Wooliver; 
"and  likely  as  not  Pete's  Into  It — Oh,  I  wisht  I'd 
told  him  not  to  drink  a  single  drop " 

She  ran  to  the  door  again.  Two  pistols  cracked 
in  quick  succession,  and  a  desultory  barking  of  six- 
shooters  began,  pricking  the  gloom  with  sharp 
tongues  of  fire.  Like  a  wise  woman,  trained  In  the 
usage  of  turbulent  camps,  Ma  ducked  Indoors, 
and  wringing  her  hands,  paced  up  and  down  the 
floor. 

"My  God!"  she  moaned;  "they've  took  to  guns, 
and  Pete'll  get  killed,  'cause  I  told  him  not  to  shoot ! 
Was  there  ever  a  sillier  woman  'n  me?  I'd  ought 
to  kep'  my  mouth  shut — shootln's  men*s  business. 


1 82  LIFE'S   LURE 

Oh,  I  wisht  I  hadn't  spoke!  Lord!  Lord!"  she 
prayed  aloud;  "if  they're  shootin'  at  Pete,  just  turn 
him  loose — don't  let  him  mind  what  I  said — ^just 
turn  him  loose  and  he'll  take  care  of  hisself !" 

But  at  that  moment,  safe  in  the  care  of  that  par- 
ticular deity  who  protects  the  drunk,  Pete,  disturbed 
in  his  heavy  slumber,  turned  over  and  swore  at  the 
world  for  being  so  noisy. 

Pete  turned  over  again ;  but  it  happened  that  the 
interval  between  his  first  and  second  turnings  em- 
braced a  number  of  hours. 

The  flies  had  become  troublesome.  Pete  was 
dimly  conscious  of  the  daylight  and  the  buzzing  of 
voices  in  the  saloon.  Vaguely  remembering  the  dis- 
turbance of  the  night,  he  vented  his  anger  at  a  fly 
persistently  persecuting  his  unoffending  nose,  and 
tried  to  sleep  again. 

But  something  seemed  to  be  wrong  in  the  world; 
and  when  the  entire  crowd  in  the  bar-room  made  a 
rush  for  the  door,  Pete  growled  like  a  teased  bear 
and  sat  up.  His  first  thought  was  of  his  home- 
stake.  He  found  the  sack  of  gold  dust  in  his 
pocket.  The  bar-room  was  empty.  Outside  In  the 
street,  however,  there  seemed  to  be  trouble  enough 
even  for  Pete's  present  nasty  mood.  There  were 
occasional  hoarse  cries,  the  scuffling  sound  of  many 
feet  moving  together,  the  buzz  and  growl  of  a  mob 
that  has  cornered  its  quarry. 

"Hell's  broke   loose,   I   guess,"   muttered  Pete, 


LIFE'S   LURE  183 

finding  his  hat  and  slamming  it  on  his  head.  He 
pulled  his  guns  and  made  for  the  door.  Lurching 
out  into  the  street,  he  grasped  the  situation  at  a 
glance.  Bear  Gulch  seemed  to  be  out  en  masse,  and 
was  marching  raggedly  up  the  street. 

"It's  a  hangin'  bee !"  muttered  Pete. 

At  the  second  glance  he  saw  at  the  head  of  the 
mob,  Monte  Joe  pulling  by  a  rope  none  other  than 
Punkins.  The  rope  was  attached  to  Punkins'  neck. 
He  was  wild-eyed,  white-faced — a  picture  of 
wretched  terror.  Pete's  fighting  blood  arose  to 
fever  heat  at  once.  He  sprang  out  into  the  street, 
mounted  a  bowlder  from  which  he  could  command 
the  situation,  and  held  his  guns  on  the  mob. 

*^Drop  that  ropeT  he  roared. 

The  mob  faltered.     A  hush  fell. 

"If  anybody  lifts  a  hand,  I'll  get  him!"  bawled 
Pete.     "Drop  that  rope!" 

Monte  Joe  spoke  up  with  a  wheedling  voice: 
"Pete,  he's  been  at  my  sluice  boxes,  and  we're  goin' 
to  swing  him  up." 

''Drop  itr 

The  hammers  clicked  under  Pete's  thumbs.  Joe 
dropped  the  rope. 

No  mob  loves  a  craven,  and  Joe's  ready  obedi- 
ence turned  the  day  against  him.  Bear  Gulch,  like 
any  primitive  society,  loved  the  evident  master;  and 
Joe  had  made  few  friends  in  the  plying  of  his  trade. 

"Now  you  poor  little  boy,"  said  Pete,  "you  come 
right  here  to  me,  and  don't  be  scart." 


1 84  LIFE'S   LURE 

Punklns  obeyed  with  difficulty.  His  knees 
knocked  together  and  he  wobbled. 

"Now  get  up  that  trail,"  commanded  Pete,  "and 
don't  go  bawlln'  like  a  calf!" 

Punkins,  snivelling  piteously,  took  the  trail  that 
led  up  over  the  divide  toward  Deadwood. 

"Now  if  you  can  prove  that  there's  anything 
comin'  to  you,  Joe,"  drawled  Pete,  "Fm  good  for  it 
when  I  get  back,  I  guess." 

Still  holding  his  guns  on  the  mob,  Pete  walked 
backward,  until,  reaching  a  safe  distance,  he  turned, 
and  walking  rapidly  to  the  summit  over  which  Pun- 
kins  had  disappeared,  he  dropped  out  of  sight. 

All  that  day  he  did  not  appear — nor  the  next. 
Bear  Gulch  was  divided  as  to  whether  or  not  he  had 
"took  and  skipped  with  the  Kid."  But,  early  in  the 
second  night,  Pete  appeared  suddenly  to  Mrs.  Wool- 
iver,  nearly  distracted  with  worry. 

"O  Pete,  Pete,"  cried  she,  "are  you  all  safe, 
Pete?  Oh,  you  was  just  grand,  a-savin'  the  poor 
boy  and  never  shootin'  nobody!  Oh,  you're  just 
the  best  man  that  ever  was,  barrin'  Pa  Wooliver!" 

"No,  I  ain't!"  interrupted  Pete  unenthusiastically. 

"W'y,  Pete — what's  gone  wrong? — you  look  so 
queer — what's  wrong?" 

Pete  produced  an  empty  sack — the  sack  that  had 
held  the  homestake,  and  offered  it  for  inspection — 
shamelessly,  and  without  comment. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  gasped  Mrs.  Wool- 
iver,  "that  you  went  and  done   away  with  all  of 


LIFE'S   LURE  185 

It? — Pete? — and  me  a-workin'  nights  on  the  pink 
dress !  What  did  you  do  with  It  ?  Pete,  why  don't 
you  talk  up?" 

"It's  flat,"  remarked  Pete  evasively;  "guess  you'll 
have  to  wait  a  bit  with  the  dress." 

"Now  Pete — Oh,  you  dear  man! — you  went  and 
give  It  to  the  boy — you  dear,  dear  man!" 

"I  got  hog  drunk  that  night,"  Interrupted  Pete. 

"And  spent  It  all?"  Mrs.  Woollver  grasped  at 
the  Inference  with  horror  In  her  voice.  "Well,  do 
tell!  If  that  ain't  like  a  man!  But  It's  all  my 
fault — me  a-tellln'  you  to  drink.  It  don't  matter, 
though.  I  got  a  good  bit  saved  up  from  the  board- 
ers, and " 

"I  ain't  no  object  of  charity,  Ma,"  said  Pete. 


IX 


The  frost  came;  the  many-colored  fires  of  fall 
ran  up  the  jack  oaks,  and  the  wild  grapes  were 
purple. 

All  day  Drake  had  been  thinking  of  little  else 
beside  a  certain  brief  but  disagreeable  conversation 
at  the  breakfast  table — the  more  disagreeable  for 
Its  very  brevity. 

Certain  Innuendoes  of  Monte  Joe,  more  or  less 
veiled  in  accordance  with  his  state  of  intoxication, 
had  stung  Drake,  though  the  ambiguous  nature  of 
the  remarks  made  it  Impossible  to  meet  them  with 
resentment.  But  a  suspicion  is  a  seed  and  will  In 
time  bear  fruit  according  to  the  soil. 

Now  the  dinner  mood  Is  the  most  significant  of 
the  day's  moods;  and,  under  normal  conditions,  a 
man's  truer  nature  should  be  judged  by  the  manner 
in  which  he  partakes  of  his  dinner.  But  at  break- 
fast, the  perspective  Is  liable  to  be  blurred,  and  a 
barbaric  attitude  of  mind  may  result.  Therefore, 
breakfast  is  an  admirable  fruiting  time  for  all  dis- 
agreeable mental  growths.  Wives  who  wish  to  es- 
cape the  impertinent  criticism  of  their  husbands, 
should  arise  and  breakfast  after  them.  And  like- 
wise, husbands  who  wish  to  escape  the  outrageous 
criticism  of  their — but  perhaps  this  is  sophistry  I 

i86 


LIFE'S  LURE  187 

The  conversation  had  been  as  follows: 

"Joy/'  Drake  had  said,  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  his  plate;  ''I  wish  you'd  be  a  little  more  careful 
in  your  relations  with  Devlin;  nothing  wrong,  of 
course,  but  It  causes  talk." 

Joy's  eyes  had  flashed  as  with  the  sudden  stirring 
of  smouldering  fires. 

^What  does  one  expect  of  a  saloon-keeper^ s 
wifef*  she  had  replied  sharply. 

Drake's  rejoinder  was  not  voiced:  "You  were  a 
professional  dancer  when  I  married  you !" 

With  the  unloosed  venom  of  the  latent  taunt 
stinging  him,  Drake  had  arisen  abruptly  from  the 
table,  and  left  the  house.  At  noon  he  did  not  find 
her  at  home,  an  unpleasant  fact  which  he  banished 
by  denying  It  significance.  "She's  sulking  some- 
where," he  thought,  "and  It  will  perhaps  do  her 
good." 

But  as  the  golden  autumn  day  rounded  into  after- 
noon, he  became  more  and  more  sorry  for  what  he 
had  said,  while  his  gratitude  for  what  he  had  not 
said  increased  proportionately.  Business  being 
slack,  he  sat  at  an  open  window,  staring  out  down 
the  gulch  where  the  autumn  colors  blazed  against 
the  dark  green  of  the  pines  and  spruces.  The  paint- 
ing of  the  first  frost  has  a  stimulating  effect  upon  the 
domestic  sense,  leading  one  to  muse  upon  the  snug 
joys  of  the  fireside.  All  the  old  times  came  back 
upon  Drake  like  the  memory  of  a  sad  sweet  song 


i88  LIFE'S   LURE 

one  has  not  hummed  for  years — hope  growing  mys- 
teriously out  of  a  vague  heartache! 

What  had  been  wrong  with  him  all  this  time?  he 
wondered.  He  looked  back  upon  the  period  begin- 
ning with  the  purchase  of  the  King  Nugget  as  upon 
a  period  of  mental  numbness.  In  the  light  of  the 
new  outlook,  he  acknowledged  to  himself  with 
shame  that  he  had  actually  neglected  his  wife;  and 
yet,  his  lust  for  gold  had  grown  out  of  his  solicitude 
for  his  wife — a  bewildering  circle  of  condemnation 
and  acquittal — the  means  frustrating  the  purpose! 

Doubtless,  she  had  been  unreasonable  in  her  an- 
tagonism to  his  method  of  money-getting;  but  he 
recalled  instances  in  which  his  sharp  resentment  of 
her  antagonism  had  been  anything  but  mollifying. 
And  he  could  not  believe  that  the  steadily  widening 
gulf  between  them  had  been  due,  in  the  last  analysis, 
to  his  occupation.  He  felt  that,  at  bottom,  the 
trouble  lay  in  his  own  neglect. 

For  the  first  time  he  looked  into  the  gulf  and 
realized  something  of  its  width  and  depth.  The 
glimpse  frightened  him.  He  recalled,  with  a  shud- 
der, certain  past  evidences  of  that  gulf,  when  he  had 
lain  awake  late  into  the  night,  staring  into  the  dark, 
and  listening  to  her  breathing  as  one  does  not 
breathe  when  one  sleeps.  And  yet,  no  word  be- 
tween them.  Hour  after  hour,  and  no  v^ord.  And 
then — ''Are  you  ill?"  "Oh  no,  thanks" — an  an- 
swer hideously  prompt  and  definite ! 

A    storm    of    over-generous    self-condemnation 


LIFE'S  LURE  189 

swept  through  Drake,  and  Joy  appeared  to  him  a 
long-suffering,  patient,  much-abused  wife. 

One  should  not  deny  chasms,  nor  should  one  pine 
at  the  brinks  of  them.  One  should  measure  them 
with  a  fearless  eye — all  the  awful  yawn  of  them — 
the  better  to  adjust  the  leap  or  fling  the  bridge. 
Better  to  perish  In  the  depths  than  languish  on  the 
rim! 

Well,  he  would  leap  the  gulf — the  gulf  of  his  own 
making.  That  very  evening  he  would  leap  It.  And 
would  it,  after  all,  be  so  difficult?  Gentle  arms 
folded  about  her  in  silence — a  kiss  in  the  old  sweet 
way!  Women  can  be  reasonable  with  affection  to 
aid  them.  And  then — the  mea  culpa  of  Love,  and 
a  long  heart-to-heart  talk.     It  could  not  fail. 

As  for  Devlin — well,  perhaps  he  had  been  a  little 
jealous  of  Louis — a  poor,  foolish  attitude  of  mind, 
to  be  sure.  But,  after  all,  It  Is  the  aggressor  that 
suffers  most  In  that  strife.  Still — what  an  odd  form 
of  generosity  to  show  toward  the  unfailing  friend — 
the  man  who  was  more  than  a  brother!  Drake 
winced  at  the  mental  observation. 

"Why,  my  very  life  is  a  gift  from  him,"  he 
thought.  "And  the  scurrility  of  a  maudlin  town 
scamp  has  been  enough  to  awaken  mistrust  of  him!" 
Alas,  poor  human  nature ! 

Doubtless  they  had  been  much  together — she  and 
Louis.  And  why  not?  The  fault  had  been  with 
Drake  himself.  In  that  he  had  unwittingly  borrowed 
the  myopic  eyes  of  Monte  Joe  for  the  viewing  of 


I90  LIFE'S   LURE 

the  eternal  verities — love  and  friendship!  Devlin 
had  merely  acted  as  a  gentleman — that  was  all. 
Let  it  pass  now.  When  one  can  confess  one's  fault 
to  oneself,  that  fault  is  already  moribund. 

As  for  the  wound  dealt  to  Joy — he  would  beg 
forgiveness — heal  it  with  love.  "Jealousy  is  the 
servant  of  Love,  and  sleeps  only  when  the  Master  is 
gadding.'*  He  shaped  the  sentence  for  use  that 
night,  when  he  should  have  leaped  the  gulf  to  stand 
once  more  beside  her  as  of  old. 

As  for  the  objectionable  business — he  would  quit 
it  at  once.  She  was  right,  no  doubt.  There  was 
indeed  a  degrading  influence  in  it.  Witness  his  neg- 
lect of  her — his  too  ready  acceptance  of  a  drunk- 
ard's gossip ! 

Well,  he  would  quit  it  now,  and  they  would 
make  preparations  at  once  to  go  back  East  before 
winter  set  in.  His  share  of  the  profits  would  be 
enough  to  keep  them  in  good  circumstances  until  he 
should  have  caught  on  in  some  respectable 
business. 

Just  at  this  point  in  his  musings,  Drake  caught 
sight  of  Devlin  coming  up  the  gulch  at  a  rapid  gait, 
his  head  drooping  as  with  some  perplexity.  When 
he  entered  the  King  Nugget,  Drake  hailed  him  with 

joy- 

"Hello,  Louis!  Just  been  thinking  of  you — sit 
down!     Wonderful  afternoon,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Devlin  laconically,  taking  the 
proffered  seat.     His  face  seemed  even  paler  than 


LIFE'S  LURE  191 

usual — more  handsome,  if  possible;  and  his  dark 
eyes  were  unusually  brilliant. 

"What's  wrong,  Louis?"  asked  Drake;  "you 
seem  excited — something  gone  wrong  at  last — ■ 
heavy  losses?" 

"According  to  my  observation,"  replied  Devlin 
slowly;  "It  Is  not  loss  that  one  should  fear,  but 
rather  too  heavy  winnings." 

"You  are  enigmatical  to-day,  Louis,"  chuckled 
Drake,  happy  in  his  new  adjustment  of  things.  Dev- 
lin turned  to  him,  and  placing  a  white  hand  on  his 
friend's  shoulder,  looked  him  squarely  in  the 
eyes. 

"Sam,"  said  he,  "have  I  been  a  friend  to  you?" 

"Why,  Louis!"  said  Drake;  "what  an  unneces- 
sary question!  Friend?  Louis,  I  love  you  as  a 
brother!" 

"I  am  going  away,  Sam,"  continued  Devlin  with 
a  look  of  sorrow  in  his  eyes;  "going  away — proba- 
bly for  good." 

"Now  that's  a  coincidence  for  you !  I've  just  de- 
cided to  go  East  myself — take  Joy  out  of  this,  you 
know.  I've  been  cruel  to  keep  her  here  so  long. 
We  can  go  East  together — all  three  of  us- — of  course 
you're  going  East?  It's  the  only  direction  for  any 
civilized  man!" 

Devlin,  still  staring  Into  Drake's  eyes,  continued 
in  a  low  voice :  "Not  together,  Sam,  I'm  afraid.  It's 
too  bad — but  we  really  can't  go  together.  Sam — I 
have  done  some  little  kindnesses  toward  you — tried 


192  LIFE'S   LURE 

to,  at  least.  You  say  you  love  me.  Well — what 
would  you  give  me  as  a  token  of  that  love?  If  I 
should  ask  you  for  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world, 
for  Instance " 

''I  would  give  It  to  you,  Louis,"  Drake  hastened 
to  answer;  "for  no  friend  would  ask  the  impos- 
sible." 

"No — not  the  Impossible,"  echoed  Devlin.  He 
dropped  his  gaze,  and  removed  his  hand  from 
Drake's  shoulder.  "I've  come  to  ask  for  that,"  he 
continued  falterlngly — "just  that." 

"What?" 

Devlin  lifted  his  eyes,  opened  his  mouth  to  speak, 
but  faltered.  "Oh,  just  that  you  will  always  love 
me  as  a  brother,  even  though  an  erring  brother,"  he 
said  at  last;  "surely  that  Is  about  the  dearest  thing 
one  could  ask." 

"Why,  Louis — what  have  I  done  that  you  should 
doubt  It?" 

"Nothing.  The  weather  is  marvellous.  Is  it 
not?"  continued  Devlin,  becoming  suddenly  very 
much  his  old  self  in  voice  and  manner.  "Surely  it 
was  In  such  weather  as  this  that  Iseult  drank  the 
mystic  cup  and  ever  after  saw  all  men  as  strangers, 
save  only  the  saddest  of  them  all !  Is  that  an  odd 
thought  to  gather  from  frost-bitten  jack  oaks,  do 
you  think?  And  yet — one  pities  Mark  least — does 
one  not?  The  old  story  has  been  running  in  my 
head  all  day,  for  some  reason. 

"And  wasn't  it  In  the  golden  autumn  hush  that 


LIFE'S  LURE  193 

"  'the  winds  o'er  Troy 
With  crumbled  dust  and  dissipated  gold 
Blew  grossly  laden?' 

"Somehow  the  sad  sea-music  of  ancient  story  has 
got  into  my  blood  to-day.  Perhaps  It  is  to  be  ex- 
plained psychologically,  as  the  effect  of  the  season's 
fruition — the  time  when  the  year  swings  Into  the  end 
of  the  spectrum.  The  goal  is  always  sadness,  Isn't 
it?  See  how  the  scarlet  burns  up  the  oaks  yonder! 
I  daresay,  however,"  continued  Devlin  with  a  ner- 
vous laugh;  "that  my  mental  condition  is  patholog- 
ical, Indicating  the  need  of  a  liver  tonic!" 

He  got  up  abruptly  and  started  for  the  door. 

"You're  not  going  on  that  long  trip  without  a 
farewell,  are  you?"  Drake  called  after  him  jovially. 
"Better  change  your  mind  and  come  along  with 
us." 

"See  you  again,"  answered  Devlin,  as  he  passed 
through  the  door. 

"Poor  Louis!"  thought  Drake,  as  he  watched 
Devlin  walking  down  the  gulch.  "He  needs  a  good 
wife  to  hold  him  level.  What  a  deuce  of  a  senti- 
mental mood  he's  In  to-day!  I  wonder  if  he  has 
grown  too  fond  of  Joy !  Poor  devil !  And  I  won- 
der if  he  feels  that  it  is  his  duty  as  a  loyal  friend  to 
go  away?" 

Drake,  feeling  pity  for  his  friend,  decided  to  have 
a  good  plain  talk  with  him.  He  would  strongly 
urge  Louis  to  think  of  settling  down.     Surely  some- 


194  LIFE'S   LURE 

where  in  the  world  a  worthy  woman  loved  him. 
And  what  a  powerful  personality  his  might  be  if 
harnessed  to  some  legitimate  enterprise!  Yes,  he 
would  talk  to  Louis  quite  frankly;  even,  if  need 
be,  uncover  to  him  gently  the  probable  secret 
of  his  mood.  And  he  would  point  out  the  fact 
that  there  was  no  wrong  in  that — only  a  misfor- 
tune. 

"Why,  I  fell  in  love  with  her  myself,  Louis,"  he 
muttered,  anticipating  the  heart-to-heart  talk  with 
his  friend;  "then  why  should  I  blame  you  for  es- 
teeming her  over-much,  since  you  have  conducted 
yourself  like  a  gentleman  in  the  matter?" 

At  sundown  the  thirsty  miners  began  to  come  in 
from  their  work,  and  trade  became  brisk.  Drake, 
therefore,  relinquished  his  intention  of  going  home 
to  dinner.  He  did  this  with  little  regret,  since,  hav- 
ing already  decided  to  give  up  the  business,  every 
pinch  of  gold  was  just  so  much  found.  He  blinked 
at  the  fact  that  his  fingers  were  unusually  acquisitive 
this  evening.  When  one  Is  just  at  the  verge  of  ref- 
ormation, a  slight  excess  of  the  old  sinning  only  ac- 
centuates the  meaning  of  the  change.  A  flame 
flares  big  in  the  penultimate  moment  of  its  snufiing 
out! 

And,  at  precisely  eleven  o'clock  at  the  latest, 
Drake  intended  to  clear  the  place,  regardless  of  the 
condition  of  trade  at  that  time,  close  the  saloon, 
never  to  enter  it  again  as  proprietor.  That  is  to 
say,  at  eleven  sharp,  by  the  clock,  he  would  reach 


LIFE'S   LURE  195 

into  the  mental  limbo  of  suspended  ideals,  draw 
them  forth,  dust  them  carefully,  and  rehabilitate 
them  as  standards  of  conduct.  Thus  having  rein- 
stated the  old  Samuel  Drake,  he  would  go  home  to 
Joy — leap  the  gulf  between  them.  A  little  delay, 
with  its  consequent  suspense,  would  only  prepare  her 
the  better  for  the  reconciliation. 

But  at  eleven  o'clock  the  bar-room  was  still  buz- 
zing, and  glasses  tinkled  merrily  along  the  bar.  Mid- 
night was  indeed  a  far  better  time  for  the  rehabilita- 
tion of  ideals — just  as  the  old  Day  died — the  mystic 
point  of  time — the  tertium  quid  through  which  the 
Past  touches  the  Future ! 

At  midnight,  though  business  was  still  brisk, 
Drake  announced  to  the  revellers  that  he  was 
obliged  to  close  the  place.  Having  cleared  the  bar- 
room, he  locked  the  door  and  set  about  weighing  his 
gold.  The  result  was  more  than  satisfying.  Then 
he  drew  forth  his  ideals,  and  found  them  seem- 
ingly as  good  as  new,  after  a  summer's  suspen- 
sion. Now  for  home,  and  the  leaping  of  the 
gulf! 

He  went  out  into  the  night,  carrying  his  heavy 
sack  of  gold.  Bear  Gulch  was  dark  and  silent  save 
for  the  Bonanza  Dance  Hall  which  had  gained  by 
the  closing  of  the  saloon.  Drake  walked  rapidly 
past  the  place  into  the  night.  Such  a  calm,  brood- 
ing night — and  the  moment  when  some  hushed  spirit 
In  the  zenith  seems  to  pause  peering  down  into  the 
mystic  East,  quick  with  a  new  to-morrow  I 


196  LIFE'S   LURE 

Drake  walked  on  rapidly  toward  the  log  house 
on  the  hillside,  and  thought  of  Joy,  fashioning  to 
himself,  meanwhile,  the  gentle  words  of  reconcilia- 
tion. She  would  be  in  bed,  probably  asleep,  when 
he  arrived.  He  would  go  to  her  quietly — awaken 
her  with  a  kiss. 

He  reached  the  house  and  entered  as  noiselessly 
as  he  could.  The  place  was  dark  and  hushed.  Tip- 
toe, he  went  to  the  bedroom.  The  bed  was  empty. 
Doubtless,  she  was  sitting  in  the  dark  waiting  for 
him.  The  thought  was  gratifying,  indicating,  as  he 
thought,  a  softer  mood  in  her.  He  went  out  into 
the  other  room. 

Yes — there  she  sat  in  her  chair  by  the  open  win- 
dow! The  gloom  of  the  pines  outside  made  it  im- 
possible to  see  anything  but  the  dark  mass  in  the 
chair. 

But  she  had  not  spoken  to  him  when  he  entered! 
Women  are  often  that  way,  when  they  have  been 
wounded.  Theirs  is  the  static  nature.  It  requires 
a  positive  force  to  move  them.  She  must  be  a  little 
angry  yet,  or,  more  likely  the  morning's  wound  still 
bled. 

Contrary  to  his  impulse,  he  did  not  go  to  her  at 
once.  He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  and 
spoke  her  name  ever  so  softly : 

"Joy!" 

There  was  no  answer,  but  certainly,  she  sighed — 
or  was  it  the  night  wind  at  the  open  window?  Drake 
felt  certain  that  she  had  sighed. 


LIFE'S   LURE  197 

"Dearest,  I  was  absurd  this  morning/'  he  fal- 
tered. ''I  want  to  be  forgiven — won't  you  for- 
give me?" 

Once  more  the  sigh. 

"I've  quit  that  loathsome  business  forever,  dear," 
he  continued  tenderly.  "I  have  been  brutally  Incon- 
siderate of  your  finer  sensibilities.  I  can  beg  for- 
giveness only  on  the  Inadequate  grounds  that  I  did 
it  for  you,  dear — so  that  you  would  never  need  to 
know  poverty.  I  had  had  such  a  lesson — such  a 
terrible  lesson.  Hunger  is  an  awful  thing.  The 
fear  of  it  weakened  me.  I  did  not  wish  to  experi- 
ence It  again;  and,  O  dearest,  the  thought  of  your 
ever  experiencing  It  overpowered  me.  Don't  you 
understand?     I  love  you!" 

His  voice  broke  with  unshed  tears. 

"Oh,  let's  go  back  to  the  old  days !  We  shall  be 
obliged  to  live  a  little  more  economically,  but  love 
is,  after  all,  the  supreme  luxury " 

Pausing,  Drake  felt  certain  that  he  heard  her  sob 
— or  was  It  the  night  wind  freshening  at  the  open 
window?  No — she  sobbed!  There! — again  she 
sobbed!  His  heart  became  infinitely  tender  toward 
her.  Tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  With  a  rapid 
movement  he  crossed  the  room  and  threw  his  arms 
about 

Nothing ! 

Drake  gasped,  and  fumbled  nervously  about  the 
chair.  It  was  empty.  Devlin's  enigmatic  behavior 
flashed  back  upon  him  with  hideous  suggestion;  but 


198  LIFE'S   LURE 

he  pushed  the  thought  aside  and  took  hold  of  him- 
self. 

^Tm  foolish/'  he  thought;  "she's  just  stepped  out- 
side; I'll  strike  a  light  and  wait  for  her." 

He  struck  a  match,  and  lit  the  lamp  on  the  table. 
How  empty  the  room  was !  Why,  she  was  the  very 
soul  of  the  place !  The  clock  ticked  dreadfully  loud. 
The  things  in  the  room  seemed  to  regard  him  with 
a  curious  stare.  Why  didn't  she  come?  It  was  not 
good  for  her  to  be  out  in  the  mountain  chill  so  long. 
He  wondered  if  she  had  taken  a  wrap.  He  got  up 
to  see. 

As  he  did  so,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  scrawled  sheet 
of  paper  lying  on  the  table.     He  read  it: 

"My  dear  Sam:  I  could  not  tell  you  this  after- 
noon, though  I  went  to  you  with  the  intention  of  do- 
ing so.  It  was  not  cowardice  that  restrained  me. 
I  have  often  faced  Death  as  an  impecunious  dandy 
might  face  his  enraged  tailor.  I  think  I  am  no  cow- 
ard. Rather  say,  that  it  was  my  keen  sense  of  ar- 
tistic fitness  that  restrained  me.  The  scene  would 
have  involved  unmitigated  bathos.  One  needs  an 
orchestral  accompaniment  to  carry  such  things  off 
well.  And  then — why  explain  the  inevitable?  Don't 
be  foolish.  I  have  had  a  pair  of  very  good  horses 
sent  over,  and  it  would  be  folly  to  try  to  pursue  on 
foot.  And  comical,  too!  Take  the  objective  view. 
All  who  do  not  so,  must  suffer  in  this  world. 
Look  upon  the  episode  as  upon  a  chapter  in  a  ro- 


LIFE'S   LURE  199 

mance.  Ask  yourself  If  its  treatment  has  been  suffi- 
ciently dramatic.  And  remember  that  I  am,  in  all 
truth,  very  fond  of  you. 

"Louis. 
"One  pities  Mark  least !" 

It  was  as  though  a  big  fist  had  struck  Drake,  blow 
upon  blow,  beating  blood  into  his  eyes.  A  hell  of 
murder  flared  up  within  him,  only  to  die  out  sud- 
denly, leaving  him  cold  and  sick  and  dazed.  He 
dropped  limply  into  a  chair  and  stared  at  the  open 
window. 

A  big  bottle-fly  was  struggling  up  the  pane.  It 
buzzed  and  boomed,  filling  an  awful  hoUowness 
with  infernal  noises.  "It's  the  orchestral  accompani- 
ment," thought  Drake.  He  watched  the  fly  win- 
ning and  losing,  losing  and  winning,  until  it  reached 
the  top,  only  to  fall  back  again,  buzzing  and  boom- 
ing. And  all  the  while  little  stinging  flashes  of 
light  went  through  his  brain;  disjointed  snatches  of 
ballet  music  and  songs  she  used  to  sing,  came  and 
went,  came  and  went  in  his  head.  Jumbled  pictures 
of  the  old  free  life  flitted  before  him,  as  from  a 
rapidly  moving  lantern  slide. 

And  then  he  saw  vividly,  as  in  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, the  white  face  and  the  dark  eyes  bending  over 
him  at  Sidney — once  more  felt  the  roll  of  bills  in  his 
hand 

''My  Godr  he  groaned;  "/  sold  my  heart T 


PART   III 
I 

It  was  a  snowy  Sunday  afternoon  In  midwinter, 
and  Pete  was  making  his  regular  call  upon  Mrs. 
Woollver,  who,  taking  advantage  of  a  lull  early  in 
the  conversation,  propounded  the  following  abstruse 
question,  apropos,  seemingly,  of  nothing  in  partic- 
ular. 

"What  would  you  think,  Pete,"  she  asked,  as  she 
rocked  and  plied  her  knitting  needles,  "of  a  baby  as 
Is  horned  without  no  pa?" 

"Pd  be  huntin'  up  white  duds  for  the  second  com- 
In*,"  replied  Pete,  with  a  broad  grin.  Mrs.  Wool- 
lver looked  up  over  her  spectacles  and  frowned. 

"Aw,  PeteF^  she  chided;  "shame  on  you,  makin' 
a  joke  out  of  holy  things!" 

"I  ain't  jokIn\"  insisted  Pete  with  a  face  of  ex- 
aggerated seriousness;  "I'd  sure  hunt  up  some  white 
duds  and  make  for  the  holy  water!" 

"Now,  Pete,  you  know  I  didn't  go  to  say  it  like 
that,  and  what's  the  use  you  lettln'  on?  I  wouldn't 
Ve  spoke  at  all  about  such  a  thing  if  you  and  me 
hadn't  just  missed  bein'  married  by  the  skin  of  our 

20I 


202  LIFE'S   LURE 

teeth,  and  still  of  a  marryin*  frame  of  mind.  What 
I  meant  was,  what  M  ought  to  be  done  about  a  baby 
borned  of  a  woman  that  ain't  married?" 

"Oh,  that's  different!"  sighed  Pete,  seemingly 
much  relieved.  "W'y,  Ma,  if  it  'd  happen  to  me,  I 
guess  I'd  go  beatin'  the  brush  for  a  man!" 

"Quit  jokin'  like  that,  Pete!"  said  Mrs.  Wooli- 
ver;  "You  know  it  ain't  likely  to  happen  to  you; 
though  I  often  wished  it  could  happen  to  one  of  you 
men  folks !  It's  precious  little  you  men  knows  about 
It.  It's  easy  enough  to  go  struttin'  about  the  lot  and 
crowin'  after  it's  all  over !  I  asked  you  what  you'd 
do  about  it  bein'  a  man,  just  as  you  be." 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Pete,  simulating  the  sudden 
illumination  of  the  pig-headed;  "w'y,  I'd  probably 
prove  I  was  somewheres  else  at  the  time — 
wouldn't  I?" 

"Pete!  Peter  scolded  Mrs.  Wooliver;  "ain't 
there  no  talkin'  sense  with  you  to-day?"  She 
rocked  some  time  in  silence,  the  busy  needles  click- 
ing in  the  hush. 

"Well,  after  all,"  she  said  at  length,  musingly;  "it 
ain't  more  'n  could  happen  to  any  healthy  woman 
bein'  properly  exposed!  Of  course,  it  never  hap- 
pened to  me  'ceptin'  when  Pa  was  about;  but  that 
ain't  no  reason  I  shouldn't  have  charity  for  other 
folks.  And  who  knows  but  it  may  be  the  Lord's 
way  of  savin'  her  soul?  W'y,  I  don't  see  how  a 
woman  can  be  bad  after  she's  felt  a  little  baby 
a-kissin'  her  with  its  open  mouth  and  laughin' !" 


LIFE'S   LURE  203 

^'What's  It  all  about,  Ma?'*  asked  Pete,  with  a 
look  of  bewilderment. 

"Well,  I'm  just  a-goin'  to  tell  you,  Pete,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Woollver;  *'and  I  want  you  to  help 
me  to  do  what's  Christian.  Nellie  is  expectin' 
and " 

*'ExpectIn'  what?"  interrupted  Pete. 

*'W'y,  expectin'  a  baby — of  course!"  explained 
Mrs.  Woollver;  "and  somethin'  ought  to  be  done!" 

"Well — I  should  say — so!"  remarked  Pete,  after 
a  long,  low  whistle  of  amazement;  "but  It's  just  like 
huntin'  a  needle  In  a  hay-rick!" 

*What  is?"  snapped  Ma  Woollver. 

"FIndIn'  the  man,"  explained  Pete.  "The  trou- 
ble ain't  in  bein'  married  too  little — it's  in  bein'  mar- 
ried too  much!" 

"Married!"  said  Mrs.  Woollver,  casting  a  quick 
glance  over  her  glasses.  "How  you  do  talk!  There 
ain^t  no  marriage  but  preacher  marriage — you  know 
that  as  well  as  me,  Pete!  Though  I  dare  say,  if 
men  had  their  way,  preachers  'd  forget  how  to  per- 
form the  ceremony.  It's  the  good  women  as  keeps 
It  goln'.  But  It  ain't  a  man  she  needs  now/^  Mrs. 
Woollver  went  on  spiritedly.  "Goodness  knows, 
she's  had  man  enough  for  a  spell,  and  she  can  do 
the  rest  by  herself!  What  she'd  ought  to  have  Is 
Christian  treatment,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  give 
it  to  her. 

"Night  before  last,"  she  went  on,  "I  was  settin' 
here  a-knittin',  just  as  I  be  now — you  mind  how 


204  LIFE'S   LURE 

cold  it  was — the  wind  whlmperin'  down  the  chimley 
like  a  sick  puppy  and  clutchln'  at  the  window-panes ; 
well,  I  was  settin'  here,  thinkin'  I'd  finish  a  sock  be- 
fore I  went  to  bed,  and  it  was  nigh  onto  midnight, 
when  I  heard  a  knockin'  at  the  back  door.  And  I 
thought,  lawsy,  who  can  that  be  at  this  time  of 
night?  And  when  I  opened  the  door,  who  do  you 
suppose  it  was,  a-lookin'  all  scart  like  somethin'  was 
chasin'  her? 

"W'y,  it  was  Nellie!  Well,  wasn't  I  took  back! 
You  could  've  knocked  me  over  with  a  feather.  It 
made  me  pretty  nigh  mad  at  first.  *A  woman  like 
her,'  I  thought,  ^a-comin'  to  me,  a  decent  Christian 
woman  as  has  had  a  hard  enough  time  a-bein'  de- 
cent!' And  all  to  once  I  see  her  eyes — how  scart 
they  looked — and  I  just  says,  'Come  right  in;' 
and  she  come,  shrinkin'  like,  as  if  she  hadn't 
ought  to. 

"But  she  didn't  say  a  thing  at  first;  just  come  in 
by  the  fire  and  looked  about  like  a  wild  thing  that's 
afraid  it's  in  a  trap.  And  by  and  by  I  says,  not 
knowin'  what  to  say,  'Won't  you  have  a  little  hot 
tea?'  And  then  she  broke  out  cryin'.  'Oh,  I  know 
I  oughtn't  to  Ve  come,'  she  says,  'and  you  won't 
ever  understand;'  and  then  she  sobbed  hoarse,  like 
her  heart  was  broke. 

"And  I  just  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer,  so  I  went 
right  up  to  her  and  put  my  arms  around  her  and 
kissed  her,  and  I  says,  'Nellie,  you  poor  little  girl, 
I  can  understand,  because  I'm  made  just  like  you,' 


LIFE'S   LURE  205 

I  says;  *just  like  you;  and  it  ain't  me  that's  to  go 
judgin'  people.' 

"And  then  she  hung  onto  me  like  as  if  she  was 
drownin'  and  sobbed  in  a  choky  way  that  made  her 
seem  like  as  if  she  was  my  own  girl.  And  by  and 
by  she  got  quieter,  and  told  me  all  about  it — 
though  I  could  see  as  soon  as  she  took  her  wrap 
off. 

"And  when  she  was  through  tellin'  it,  I  says, 
*W'y,  you  blessed  girl,  you  dear  blessed  girl,  it's  bet- 
ter to  have  a  baby  and  be  good  afterwards  than  to 
go  on  bein'  bad  and  never  have  nonel'I  says.  And 
'Oh,  Mother  Wooliver,'  she  says,  'I  was  goin'  to 
kill  myself,'  she  says,  'because  I  knowed  I  couldn't 
go  on  makin'  a  livin'  that  way  any  more.  I  just 
couldn't,'  she  says.  'It  seemed  terrible,'  she  says, 
I  don't  know  why.  And  then  I  got  scart  of  myself, 
and  I  had  to  run;  and  then  I  remembered,'  she  says; 
and  I  ain't  braggin',  Pete,  'cause  it's  sinful  to  brag. 
'And  I  remembered,'  she  says,  'that  everybody  said 
you  was  so  good — and  I  come,'  she  says. 

"And  then  I  told  her  we'd  have  a  cup  of  hot  tea 
and  then  we'd  get  right  down  and  have  a  good 
prayin'  spell  together.  And  we  did  that,  and  I  told 
the  Lord  all  about  it.  And  then  I  made  her  stay 
with  me  all  night,  though  she  didn't  want  to,  'cause 
she  said  folks  'd  think  I  was  bad  too.  And  I 
says,  'I'd  a  heap  rather  look  bad  and  be  good 
than  to  look  good  and  be  bad.'  And  she 
stayed. 


2o6  LIFE'S   LURE 

"And  we  had  a  long  talk.  And  I  told  her  a  lot 
of  things  she'd  ought  to  know — about  takin'  care  of 
herself. 

"What  am  I  makin'?  Wy,  Pete — can't  you 
see?" 

Mrs.  Wooliver  held  up  a  little  knit  garment,  al- 
most finished.  Pete  examined  it  curiously,  turning 
it  over  and  over  with  clumsy  fingers. 

"Well,  ril  be  cussed!  Ain't  it  teeny,  though?" 
he  remarked  at  last,  holding  his  head  down  that  he 
might  hide  his  eyes.  "Can't  get  my  danged  finger 
in  the  sleeve!" 

*' Ain't  it  just  too  sweet?"  cooed  Mrs.  Wooliver. 
"There  ain't  anything  in  this  world  half  as  much 
joy  as  makin'  them  little  things !  Sometimes  I  think 
Heaven  must  be  a  place  where  a  whole  lot  of  good 
women  is  makin'  baby  clothes  forever  and  ever! 
And  it's  just  as  I  told  Nellie.  *Don't  let  yourself 
fret  and  stew;  get  busy  makin'  little  things  for  it, 
and  by  and  by  you'll  be  just  so  happy  thinkin'  about 
it  that  you'll  feel  like  you  can't  wait  till  you  can  hear 
it  cry,  and  feel  it  clutchin'  after  its  dinner!'  Lawsy, 
don't  I  mind  the  first  winter  I  was  that  way!  I 
was  such  a  young  thing,  and  Pa  didn't  know  no 
more  about  what  he'd  ought  to  do  or  say  than  a 
horse,  though  he  was  an  awful  good  man.  I  used 
to  lay  awake  of  nights  and  cry,  'cause  I  was  so  scart 
of  what  was  comin'.  And  there  was  a  big  fat  kind 
woman  that  lived  on  the  place  next  to  us;  and  she 
come  over  and  talked  to  me  just  as  I  talked  to  Nel- 


LIFE'S   LURE  207 

lie.  Don't  I  mind  her  though!  Her  name  was 
Pizy.     Mrs.  Pizyf     Ain't  that  a  pretty  name? 

"W'y,  Pete,  you  dear  man,"  cooed  Ma,  looking 
up  over  her  glasses  with  wet  eyes.  "You  don't  have 
to  hide  it !  A  man  as  can  feel  soft  over  baby  clothes 
is  a  mighty  good  man!" 

*'I  got  a  little  cold,"  explained  Pete  hurriedly,  as 
he  drew  forth  a  red  handkerchief.  "What  'd  you 
want  me  to  do.  Ma?" 

"W'y,  I  want  you  to  chop  up  a  lot  of  stove  wood 
for  Nellie,"  said  Mrs.  Wooliver. 

"All  right.  Ma,"  said  Pete;  and  he  left  the  house. 

"Now  that's  what  I  call  a  good  man,"  Mrs. 
Wooliver  mused  aloud.  "He'll  fight  at  a  drop  of 
a  hat,  and  his  eyes  gets  wet  over  baby  clothes !" 

That  night  at  the  King  Nugget  Saloon,  Pete 
made  a  sensational  announcement  to  the  assembled 
loungers. 

"There's  a  gent  in  this  crowd,"  said  he,  "that'd 
ought  to  set  'em  up  to  everybody  else !" 

"Who's  that?"  chimed  in  the  chorus. 

"Takes  a  wiser  man  'n  me  to  answer,"  said  Pete; 
"but  there's  sure  a  daddy  runnin'  wild  in  Bear 
Gulch!  And  seein'  that  nobody  knows,  how  about 
everybody  settin'  'em  up  to  everybody?" 

"A  daddy?"  went  the  chorus. 

"Yes,"  said  Pete;  "so  line  up,  gentlemen,  and 
have  somethin'  on  me  for  a  starter.  Not  as  I'd  be 
for  committin'  myself,  which  I  ain't!     But  it  ain't 


2o8  LIFE'S   LURE 

ever  goin'  to  be  said  of  Pete  that  he  wouldn't  set 
'em  up  when  It  might  Ve  been  his  turn.  Line  up, 
gentlemen !  You  can't  never  tell  where  llghtnin'  '11 
strike !  Line  up  and  drink  hearty — your  turn's 
comin'  next!" 

The  loungers  tumbled  off  the  chairs  and  benches, 
gathering  about  Pete.  They  clamored  for  an  expla- 
nation. 

*'Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said;  "I  just  come  from 
seein'  the  teeniest,  cutest  danged  baby  shirt !  No 
whiskey  for  me,  Sam;  make  it  a  smoke.  W'y, 
danged  if  I  could  get  my  finger  in  the  sleeve,  it  was 
that  teeny !  Wouldn't  make  a  mitten !  Ma  Wool- 
iver's  a-makin'  it,  you  know " 

*'Ma  Wooliver?" 

'What!" 

"Makin'  a  baby  shirt!" 

'The  devil  she  is!" 

"Not  Ma  Wooliver!" 

A  volley  of  exclamations  fell  upon  Pete.  "For 
Nell's  youngster  that's  goln'  to  be,  you  know,"  fin- 
ished Pete. 

A  hush  fell,  and  then  a  roar  of  laughter  filled  the 
room;  after  which,  one  at  the  end  of  the  bar  spoke 
up:  "Have  a  little  something  more,  boys — on  gen- 
eral principles!" 

The  line-up  drank  again  and  again  and  again — 
a  tacit  serial  confession  of  the  parental  possibility! 

"Now,"  said  Pete,  after  the  liquidation  of  the 
uncertain  debt  had  been  accomplished,  "I'm  goin'  to 


LIFE'S   LURE  209 

pass  the  hat  and  take  up  a  collection  for  little  John- 
nie Bear  Gulch.  It's  bound  to  be  a  boy.  Couldn't 
help  takin'  after  Its  daddy,  since  It  seems  to  have — 
let's  see — "  Pete  counted  his  cigars  " — about 
twenty-seven  of  him !  Cash  In,  gentlemen — the  fid- 
dler wants  his  pay!" 

Pete  passed  his  hat,  which  soon  grew  heavy  with 
gold  dust. 

"It  wasn't  me!"  protested  Monte  Joe,  as  the  hat 
reached  him;  "she  says  It  was  Punklns,  and  I  say 
any  sensible  woman  'd  ought  to  know!" 

"W'y,  you  poor  maverick  steer!"  rejoined  Pete; 
"we're  talkin'  about  men!'* 

Some  minutes  later,  Pete  was  turning  his  collec- 
tion over  to  Mrs.  Woollver  for  safe-keeping. 

"Every  mother's  son  of  'em  that  might  've  been 
the  right  one,  cashed  in,"  explained  Pete. 

"Oh,  and  wasn't  that  just  too  good  of  'em !"  she 
exclaimed.  "Now  that's  what  I  call  almost  Chris- 
tian! But — Pete — uh — w'y,  Pete — did  you  put 
some  in,  too?" 

''There  now,  MaF^  drawled  Pete,  evasively; 
''there  nowF' 


II 


The  last  loiterer  had  left  the  King  Nugget  soon 
after  midnight;  but,  though  an  hour  had  passed, 
Drake  still  sat  by  the  box-stove,  staring  at  the  glow- 
ing grate.  He  had  blown  out  the  lights,  that  he 
might  abandon  himself  the  more  readily  to  that  lux- 
ury of  melancholy,  without  which  grief  would  be 
neither  sacred  nor  endurable. 

It  was  early  March — but  the  March  of  high  alti- 
tudes. By  fits  the  ghostly  night  wind  whisked  dry 
snow  across  the  window-panes.  Drake  sat  with  his 
chin  resting  in  his  hands,  turning  over  and  over  in 
his  mind  the  ancient  Story  of  the  Friend.  Actuated 
by  that  instinctive  human  need  for  objective  repre- 
sentation of  suffering,  he  caused  to  pass  before  him 
in  the  timeless  darkness  of  shut  eyes,  the  haughty 
forms  of  Paris  and  Tristan  and  Lancelot;  and  be- 
hind them,  ghostly  In  a  Hadean  twilight,  the  three 
sad  Kings  of  Story.  With  the  former,  he  identified 
Devlin,  and  with  the  latter,  himself.  Often  in  the 
winter  nights  he  had  so  reshaped  his  story  that  it 
might  thus  seem  beautiful  and  so  hurt  less.  From 
the  ancient  need  of  such  a  moment.  Art  was  born; 
and  only  by  recasting  his  too  intimate  sorrow  into 
forms  of  alien  beauty,  has  Man  made  life  tolerable. 

Devlin,  the  perfidious  friend;  Joy,  the  faithless 

2IO 


LIFE'S   LURE  211 

wife — "more  sinned  against  than  sinning;"  Drake, 
the  betrayed  husband — a  triangle  of  sordid  heart- 
aches! But,  make  it  Tristan,  with  a  splendid  Im- 
mortality of  youth;  make  his  white  hands  strong  for 
sword  play,  and  gentle  for  caresses;  and  let  him 
bear  about  him  the  mystery  of  rumored  battles ! 

Then,  with  the  symbolism  of  the  rose  and  the 
meaning  of  the  lily,  fashion  a  woman,  and  call  her 
Iseult ! 

About  these,  fling  the  murmuring  Immensity  of 
the  sea.     And  let  the  mystic  cup  be  quaffed! 

Lo !  how  the  personal  groan  is  swallowed  up  in 
the  sad,  majestic  world-music! 

"One  pities  Mark  least!"  The  scrawled  taunt 
suddenly  thrust  itself  before  Drake's  eyes,  once 
more  flinging  back  the  story  into  the  sordid  and  per- 
sonal; and  through  him  swept  the  old,  hideous  de- 
sire to  kill !  He  arose  from  his  chair  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  dark  room. 

"It's  foolish  of  me,"  he  muttered  at  length,  "to 
keep  on  feeling  so.  It's  only  self-love  that  tortures 
me — not  love  of  her.  For,  doubtless,  she  Is  hap- 
pier with  him  than  she  could  be  with  me."  He  put 
more  wood  in  the  stove  and  sat  down  again,  staring 
into  the  glowing  grate. 

"Where  is  she  now?"  he  wondered.  His  Imagi- 
nation took  wings  and  fled  like  a  homesick  bird — 
out  through  the  frosted  panes,  over  the  spectral, 
white-cloaked  pines,  the  gloomy  lonesome  gulches, 
the  snow-capped  summits;  past  the  hill  country,  out 


212  LIFE'S  LURE 

over  the  endless  flat  lands,  featureless  and  white 
under  icy  stars,  where  the  March  wind  ran  up  and 
down,  moaning  forever:  faster — farther,  breath- 
lessly flying — over  dead  rivers  wrapped  in  cere- 
ments— hushed  cities  full  of  sleeping  heartaches. 
But  there  was  never  a  place  for  the  flying,  home- 
sick thing  to  stop,  saying,  *'Here  she  is  at  last!" 
So,  broken  and  weary,  it  crept  back  by  the  lire. 

A  fly  began  to  buzz  on  the  frosty  window-pane ! 
With  a  dull  booming  it  struggled  upward,  only  to 
fall  back  again  with  the  snarl  of  frustrate  wings. 
Over  and  over  and  over  again  it  skittered  upward, 
only  to  fall  back,  and  once  more  begin  the  struggle. 

^'Oh,  damn  that  flyT'  muttered  Drake,  peevishly. 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window.  But  though 
the  starlight  glittered  through  the  window,  he  saw 
no  fly. 

There!  It  had  flown  from  the  window  and  was 
now  buzzing  dizzily  somewhere  in  the  darkness! 
Round  and  round  and  round  it  went,  buzzing,  boom- 
ing. The  sound  irritated  Drake.  Strangely  enough, 
he  caught  these  words  running  in  his  head:  "It's  the 
orchestral  accompaniment !"  And  he  wondered  what 
they  meant. 

He  felt  about  for  a  lamp,  and  lit  it.  Then  he 
listened.  There  was  no  sound  in  the  room.  He 
laughed  nervously.  "Why,  it's  the  dead  of  winter 
yet,  and  of  course  there  was  no  fly!"  he  muttered. 
"I  must  have  fallen  asleep  and  dreamed  it." 

He  sat  down  again  by  the  fire,  but  this  time  he 


LIFE'S   LURE  213 

left  the  lamp  burning.  The  thing  puzzled  him. 
Certainly  he  had  not  been  asleep.  "But  I  heard  it 
as  plainly  as  I  did  that  night  she  left,"  he  thought; 
"I  wonder  if  I  shall  go  mad  yet." 

He  got  up  and  took  a  drink  of  whiskey.  When 
he  returned  to  the  fire,  he  heard  another  noise  very 
distinctly.  Nevertheless,  he  persisted  for  some  time 
in  denying  that  he  heard  anything.  "It  '11  stop  If  I 
don't  let  on,"  he  thought. 

But  it  continued — a  sharp  rat-tat-tat  on  the  win- 
dow-pane. 

At  length,  Drake  could  no  longer  keep  his  eyes 
from  the  window,  and  saw,  through  a  rift  in  the 
frost-work,  a  nose  flattened  against  the  glass,  and 
one  peering  eye !  He  stared  at  them  Incredulously 
for  awhile,  trying  to  make  them  vanish.  But  In- 
stead he  heard  a  voice  calling  cautiously:  "Let  me 
In — won't  you  please?" 

Drake  got  up,  took  his  gun  from  behind  the  bar 
and,  going  to  the  door,  threw  It  open.  "Who's 
there?"  he  called. 

"Don't  shoot!  It  ain't  nobody,  Mr.  Drake!" 
whimpered  a  voice  from  the  night. 

The  lamplight  streaming  through  the  door,  fell 
upon  a  frost-whitened  face  that  Drake  recognized, 
though  a  great  change  had  passed  over  it. 

"Why,  hello,  Punkins!"  cried  Drake,  almost  joy- 
ously. "I  thought  it  was — someone  else.  Come  In! 
It's  a  bit  late  In  the.  day  for  trailing  about  the  coun- 
try. Isn't  it?" 


214  LIFE'S   LURE 

Punkins  entered,  glancing  nervously  about  the 
place,  as  a  wild  beast,  suspicious  of  a  trap,  might 
enter  a  hole.  His  face  was  haggard,  and  the  coun- 
try bloom  had  quite  vanished  from  the  cheeks.  His 
dull  eyes  had  a  haunted  look. 

"Is — Is — Monte  Joe  a-lookin'  for  me  yet?"  he 
stammered.  "Tell  me  honest,  Mr.  Drake.  I  never 
took  nothin'  from  Joe.  Swear  to  God  and  hope  to 
die,  I  never,  Mr.  Drake.     Is  he  a-lookin'  for  me?" 

"Joe  left  town  a  month  ago,"  said  Drake.  "No- 
body's looking  for  you.  Sit  down  here  by  the  fire — 
you're  half  frozen." 

He  felt  his  own  trouble  dropping  away  before 
this  face  that  should  have  been  young  but  was  not. 
Punkins  huddled  over  the  fire,  and  his  teeth  chat- 
tered in  the  hush.  At  length  he  lifted  eyes  that 
begged  upon  Drake. 

"GI'  me  a  drink  of  whiskey,  won't  you?  Just  a 
teeny  drink,  Mr.  Drake.  I  ain't  got  no  money,  but 
I'm  goln'  to  have  a  lot  when  spring  opens  up  again. 
Honest,  I  am.  And  I'll  pay.  Or  I'll  sweep  out  for 
you,  if  you  don't  want  to  trust  me." 

Drake  fetched  a  bottle  and  glass  from  behind  the 
bar.  Punkins  grasped  eagerly  at  the  bottle  and,  ig- 
noring the  glass,  drank  heavily;  after  which,  he  took 
his  head  between  his  hands  and  resting  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  began  to  snivel  childishly. 

"I  ain't  never  had  no  luck,"  he  sobbed.  "The 
whole  world's  again'  me,  so  it  is;  and  I  ain't  got  no 
show,  so  I  ain't.     What's  the  use  of  a  man  tryin' 


LIFE'S   LURE  215 

when  he  ain't  got  no  luck?  I  never  went  to  hurt 
nobody  In  all  my  life,  and  what  do  I  get  for  it? 
Everything  goes  again'  me.  I  wisht  to  God  I'd  a 
stayed  on  the  little  old  farm.  I  never  knowed  how 
good  Ma  and  Jane  was  to  me!"  Punkins  sobbed 
unmanfully.  "And  I  ain't  heerd  from  'em  for  ages, 
and  mebbe  they're  dead  and  gone  for  always  and 
always.  Oh,  my  God!  I  was  a-tryin'  to  help  'em  out, 
so's  they  wouldn't  go  worryin',  but  I  ain't  had  no 
luck."     Punkins'  huddled  form  shook  with  grief. 

Drake  sat  in  silence,  filled  with  pity  for  a  sorrow 
that  seemed  greater  than  his  own. 

At  length  Punkins  straightened  up  and  wiped  his 
eyes,  that  had  taken  on,  thanks  to  the  action  of  the 
liquor,  something  of  their  old  youthful  audacity. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  come  back?"  he  began, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  is  about  to  divulge  an  im- 
portant mystery.  "Well,  sir,  that  there  claim  of 
mine  up  the  gulch  Is  a-goin'  to  surprise  some  folks 
yet!  I've  been  knockin'  about  some,  and  I've 
learned  a  thing  or  two  about  placer  minin'.  Joe 
thought  he  was  powerful  smart,  sellin'  it  to  me  for 
three  hundred  and  fifty  dirty  little  dollars !"  Punk- 
ins laughed  croakingly.  '^H^mF*  he  sniffed  con- 
temptuously after  his  outburst.  "Three  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars !  I'll  eat  my  shirt  if  it  don't  pan  out 
a  thousand  times  that  much!  I  got  It  all  figgered 
out,  Mr.  Drake,  and  it's  plain  as  a  wart  on  a  nose. 
/  never  got  down  to  bed  rock!  Just  skimmed  off  the 
top,  and  It  like  to  broke  my  heart  'cause  nothin' 


2i6  LIFE'S   LURE 

panned  out,  but  a  few  little  flakes !  Ain't  it  damned 
funny  though,  how  a  man  '11  make  a  fool  of  hisself  ?" 

Punkins,  once  more  opulent,  helped  himself  liber- 
ally to  the  bottle. 

"I  guess  I  ain't  so  bad  off  as  I  seemed  like.  And 
you  just  mind  what  I  say,  Mr.  Drake,  I  ain't  huntin' 
no  trouble  with  nobody!  But  I'm  a-goin'  to  stick 
right  here  in  these  diggin's  till  I  get  good  and  ready 
to  hit  the  trail — do  you  hear?  And,  by  cracky, 
Monte  Joe'd  better  look  out  for  me!  I  ain't 
a-huntin'  no  trouble,  and  I'm  a  easy  man  to  get  on 
with  when  I  ain't  hindered !  No  wonder  he  left  the 
diggin's!  Do  you  think  he  didn't  know  I'd  come 
back?" 

Punkins,  rapidly  approaching  the  millionaire  class, 
assumed  an  expression  of  indomitable  power.  Drake 
was  struggling  with  a  troublesome  lump  in  his  throat, 
and  did  not  speak. 

"Say — "  began  Punkins  again  after  a  silence,  a 
soft  look  chasing  away  the  theatrical  expression  of 
defiance — "uh — how — how's  Nellie  comin'  on?" 

"She's  got  a  baby  boy,"  repHed  Drake;  "it  came 
two  weeks  ago." 

*'The  helir^  ejaculated  Punkins,  a  look  of  pride 
transforming  his  haggard  countenance.  "Well,  I 
swan !  And  I  said  I  ain't  never  had  no  luck !  Now 
ain't  I  a  fool  though?  Thafs  why  Joe  left — the 
skunk!  And  well  he  might!  He  knowed  I'd  be 
comin'  back  when  I  heerd  that.  W'y,  Drake,  I'd 
come  back  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  If  I'd  a-heerd 


LIFE'S   LURE  217 

that  I"  announced  Punklns  pompously.  "Have  one 
on  me,  old  man!'^  cried  he,  offering  the  bottle  to  its 
owner.  "It's  kind  of  late,  but  a  man's  got  to  set 
*em  up  for  a  boy!" 

Drake,  smiling  wanly,  took  the  bottle  and  drank. 

"A  boy!"  continued  Punkins,  after  helping  him- 
self to  some  more  refreshments.  "By  cracky!  And 
I  said  I  never  had  no  luck !  After  all,  there's  some- 
thin'  bigger'n  the  whole  world  that  takes  care  of  a 
man,  ain't  they?  Pete  give  me  a  sack  of  gold,  and 
says  he,  *Go  home,  young  man,  and  stick  to  your 
punkins'.  And  I  had  a  half  a  mind  to  go.  And 
then  all  to  oncet  somethin'  says  to  me,  'Don't  you 
do  it,  go  home,  till  you've  got  what  you  come  for.' 
And  so  I  didn't.  I  tumbled  into  Black  Tail,  not 
knowin'  why.  And  I  says  to  myself,  'Placer  minin' 
Is  too  slow;  I'm  a-goin'  to  try  my  luck  at  cards.' 
And  so  I  set  in  to  a  game  with  that  little  curly-headed 
gent  and  some  others  and  the  little  curly-headed  gent 
got  all  the  gold  dust  Pete  give  me.  And  then  for 
quite  a  spell  I  didn't  eat  none,  until  one  day  the 
little  curly-headed  gent " 

Drake  was  staring  wildly  at  the  dilapidated  and 
garrulously  drunken  youth.  ^Who  was  itf  he 
gasped. 

" — and  the  little  gent  says  to  me,  'Your  belly's 
flappin'  together,  ain't  it?  Well,  how'd  you  like 
bein'  my  valley?'  And  I  says,  'Is  there  any  eatin'  In 
bein'  your  valley?'  And  he  says,  'Look  here,  you 
keep  my  shoes  polished  and  brush  my  clothes  and 


2iS  LIFE'S   LURE 

look  after  me  when  I'm  playln',  and  I'll  keep  you 
fed.'  And  so  I  called  his  bluff,  and  went  to  work 
a-shlnin'  shoes  and  fetchin'  him  his  grub  of  a  noon 
when  he  woke  up.  And  that's  how  I  come  to  drop 
in  on  you,"  spouted  Punklns,  forgetting  his  previous 
explanation.  "Because  he  says  to  me  the  other  day, 
he  says,  'It's  just  struck  me  that  I've  got  a  woman 
out  In  the  brush  over  on  Sand  Creek,  and  I've  been 
so  busy  with  minin'  the  miners' " 

Drake,  with  a  savage  guttural  cry,  leaped  upon 
Punklns  and  seized  him  by  the  throat.  ''Stop,  you 
drunken  calf,  and  answer  meF^  he  cried;  ''Was  it 
Louis  DevUn?^^ 

"W'y — w'y — "  gulped  Punklns;  ''I  never  meant 
to  do  no  harm — honest,  Mr.  Drake — please,  hon- 
est I  didn't!  And  it's  your  woman  he's  got  in  the 
brush,  and  she  was  starvln'  to  death  when  I  got 
there  with  the  grub  he  sent — and — and " 

Drake  had  fallen  back  limply  into  his  chair,  his 
eyes  staring  wildly,  his  jaw  dropped. 

"Please,  Mr.  Drake,"  whined  Punklns,  aghast  at 
the  face  before  him.  "Please  don't  go  and  tell  I  told 
you !  He'd  kill  me  for  tellin'  and  I  never  meant  no 
harm.  I  was  just  a-talkin',  like,  and  never  meant 
to  say  nothln'  at  all!  Oh,  please  don't  let  out  on 
me!" 

Drake  got  up  unsteadily  and,  staring  emptily  like 
a  somnambulist,  put  on  his  coat  and  cap.  Then  he 
went  behind  the  bar  and  took  a  small  sack  of  gold 
dust  from  the  till.    Approaching  Punklns,  he  tossed 


LIFE'S   LURE  219 

the  sack  heavily  into  the  youth's  lap.  "Show  me  the 
way  to  her,"  he  said  in  a  voice  without  inflexion. 

Punkins  seemed  to  have  heard  nothing.  Eagerly 
grasping  the  sack,  he  loosened  the  draw  strings.  At 
sight  of  the  glittering  stuff  within,  the  terror  passed 
from  his  face,  and  he  laughed  drunkenly,  running  the 
precious  dust  through  his  fingers. 

^'QuickF'  cried  Drake;  ''Show  me  the  wayT* 

"Oh!"  cried  Punkins;  "I — I  was  just  a — w'y,  of 
course,  I  will,  Mr.  Drake.  Think  Pm  scart  of  that 
little  curly-headed  whiffet?  Not  me!  Just  let  him 
come  at  me,  and  he'll  find  out!  No,  sir,  ain't  scart 
of  nobody!  He'll  never  beat  me  again!  And  you 
just  mark  my  word,  Mr.  Drake,  when  spring  opens 
up,  you'll  see  what  PU  get  out  of  that  claim  up  the 
gulch;  and  then  me  and  Nellie'll  go  back  home 
and " 

Drake  clutched  the  lad's  throat  and  choked  him 
into  silence.    'Will  you  shut  upf^  he  snarled. 

"Ye-e-s,"  gulped  Punkins. 

Drake  blew  out  the  light,  and  they  went  out  into 
the  white  night  together.  Bear  Gulch  lay  huddled 
asleep  in  the  snow.  Punkins  led  the  way  up  over  the 
drifted  stage  road,  and  turned  to  the  left  into  a  dim 
snow-choked  trail  that  wound  through  the  heavy 
forest. 

"Faster!  Faster!"  wheezed  Drake,  trampling 
with  every  step  upon  the  heels  of  his  guide.  "My 
God!    Can't  you  go  faster?" 

The  sharp  air  of  the  March  night,  and  the  rapid 


220  LIFE'S   LURE 

gait,  conquered  the  whiskey  in  Punkins,  and  the 
farther  he  went,  the  more  rosily  bloomed  the  future 
for  him.  For  there  is  a  weird  and  potent  magic  in 
the  touch  of  gold,  and  Punkins  kept  his  hand  on  the 
precious  sack  in  his  pocket.  As  he  plunged  on,  he 
was  but  dimly  conscious  of  the  petulant  voice  behind 
him.  He  laid  fine  plans.  His  luck  had  turned — 
that  was  certain.  And  once  one  got  a  run  of  luck, 
one  became  invincible.  And  just  look  at  the  evi- 
dences of  the  change!  His  Nellie  had  a  boy — his 
boy!  The  only  possible  rival,  Monte  Joe,  had  fled 
from  the  field.  Enter  Punkins  pushed  by  the  hand 
of  Fate.  And  what  then?  A  windfall  of  gold! 
Why,  the  price  of  the  old  forty  was  doubtless  in  the 
sack  he  fondled  with  his  hand!  No  use  trying  un- 
less Luck  is  with  one !  For  hadn't  he  nearly  broken 
his  heart  without  result?  And  then — without  effort 
— there  it  was  in  his  pocket ! 

Well,  it  was  a  hint  for  him,  and  Punkins  was  wise 
enough  to  understand.  He  would  go  back  to  Nellie, 
support  her  and  the  boy;  and  in  the  spring  he'd  go 
back  to  work  on  his  claim — this  time,  in  earnest. 
And  then — home  in  the  fall!  And  they  would  all 
live  very  happily  ever  after. 

Meanwhile  for  Drake  the  pine  glooms  swarmed 
with  buzzing,  booming  flies!  Deny  his  ears  as  he 
might,  the  hideous,  maddening  buzzle  and  boom 
was  there! 

The  stars  grew  dim,  the  pine  glooms  faded,  the 
cold  gray  light  came  creeping.    And  at  length  Punk- 


LIFE'S   LURE  221 

ins  stopped  at  the  rim  of  a  sharp  descent.  **There's 
the  house!"  he  said. 

Drake  saw  a  small  log  hut,  half  buried  in  the 
snow,  several  hundred  yards  away.  Dizzily  he 
stared  upon  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  plunged  wildly 
down  the  slope  toward  the  hut. 

He  reached  the  door.    It  was  fast.    He  knocked. 

A  wild  shrill  cry,  half  terror  and  half  joy,  came 
from  within. 

^^ Louis  I    Louis  r* 

The  door  was  thrown  open.  Joy  stood  before 
him — and  such  a  Joy!  She  was  thin  and  haggard 
and  sallow.  The  pinch  of  anxiety  and  hunger  dis- 
torted her  countenance.  Her  eyes  were  big  and 
wild  with  much  weeping.  Her  golden  hair  clung 
in  slovenly  tangles  about  her  drawn  face. 

She  sprang  back  from  him,  and  her  face  went  cold 
and  savage — sword-like. 

^'Oh,  why  didn't  you  come  home  to  me — when  did 
the  skunk  leave  you?"  cried  Drake  huskily.  "I've 
come  for  you — and  we'll  never  part  again — we'll  go 
away  together " 

With  a  sharp,  whining  cry,  she  sprang  at  him  like 
a  starved  wildcat  that  battles  for  its  young.  She 
poured  forth  insane  torrents  of  abuse  upon  him. 
She  defended  Devlin,  wildly,  incoherently.  Drake 
seized  her  in  his  arms.     She  broke  down  and  wept. 

Plunging  back  along  the  Bear  Gulch  trail,  Punkins 
whistled  merrily  in  the  glad  new  day. 


Ill 


"What'd  I  tell  you,  Pete!"  exclaimed  Ma  Wooli- 
ver,  as  Pete  came  in  for  an  evening's  chat  by  the 
open  fire.  It  was  the  day  of  Punkins'  triumphant 
return,  and  Ma  was  full  of  the  subject.  "Didn't  I 
tell  you  somethin'  was  goin'  to  happen,  the  way 
that  burro,  Christmas,  was  takin'  on  of  nights?  And 
you  said  he  was  brayin'  just  because  the  pickin'  was 
poor  in  the  heavy  snow !  Well,  that's  the  way  with 
men — they  haven't  no  intuition.  Two  and  two  is 
four  when  it's  right  under  their  nose !" 

"And  It's  five  when  it's  under  a  woman's  nose — 
ehf  laughed  Pete. 

"Well,  an3rway,  Pete,"  insisted  Mrs.  Wooliver, 
"It  does  seem  like  Christmas  feels  things  before 
they  happen.  W'y,  he  kep'  me  awake  three  nights 
hand  runnin',  and  I  was  holdin'  my  breath  until  Nel- 
lie come  runnin'  over,  all  beamin'  and  happy,  and 
said  that  her  baby's  father  had  come  back  with  a 
lot  of  money,  and  was  goln'  to  stay  with  her  and  the 
baby.    What's  so  funny,  Pete?" 

"Oh — nothin'.  Ma — I  was  just  smilln'  pleasant  at 
how  wise  love  has  made  Nell !" 

"Now,  Pete,"  chlded  Ma,  "it  ain't  Christian  to 
believe  what  mightn't  be  so;  and  it  is  queer  how 

222 


LIFE'S   LURE  223 

much  that  baby  looks  like  the  young  man!  Nellie 
showed  me  and  It  was  just  as  plain !  W'y,  Pete,  the 
eyes  and  the  nose!  And  I  never  saw  a  prouder 
father  I  Plays  with  It  by  the  hour !  *And  won't  his 
Ma  be  proud,'  he  says  *to  be  a  grandmother  I' 
They're  plannin'  to  go  back  to  the  old  folks,  you 
know.  Ain't  that  nice?  It's  queer  how  good  things 
often  comes  about  through  bad  things.  That's  why 
nobody'd  ought  to  be  quick  about  throwin'  stones. 

"But,  Pete,"  resumed  Mrs.  Woollver  after  a 
thoughtful  silence;  "we've  really  got  to  get  a 
preacher  over  here  from  Deadwood  to  tie  'em  to- 
gether decent!  Because  Preacher  marriage  is  the 
only  really,  truly  marriage.  I  declare  I'll  feel  like 
I'm  a-breakin'  the  seventh  commandment  every 
minute  until  I  hear  the  words  'Man  and  Wife' 
spoke  to  'em  by  a  preacher!  And  I  say  it's  no 
more'n  every  baby's  right!" 

"It  must  be  an  awful  feelln'.  Ma,"  bantered  Pete; 
"and  I  say  that  It's  a  sin  to  beat  a  good  woman  out 
of  her  comfortable  weddin'  cry !  Why  does  women 
cry  at  weddln's.  Ma?" 

"Well  now,  Pete,"  replied  Mrs.  Woollver,  "that 
ain't  as  funny  a  question  as  It  sounds  to  be.  Why 
does  folks  cry  at  fun'rals?  Same  reason  back'ards! 
Fun'rals  Is  only  weddln's  turned  Inside  out!" 

"Mebbe  It's  so,"  rejoined  Pete;  "Guess  it's  too 
deep  for  me ;  but  it  sounds  awful  skeery  to  a  single 
man!" 

"It's  too  bad  about  you  men,  ain't  It?"  rallied 


224  LIFE'S  LURE 

Mrs.  Wooliver.  "Precious  little  you  men  Ve  got  to 
be  scart  about  by  the  time  you  get  ready  to  settle 
down !    It's  the  woman  that  loses !" 

"How  about  Nellie?"  bantered  Pete. 

"Nobody's  cried  at  her  weddin'  yet!"  snapped 
Ma.    And  the  conversation  languished. 

"Kind  of  funny  about  Sam  Drake,  ain't  It?"  re- 
marked Pete  after  the  Interval  of  silence. 

"How's  that?"  asked  Ma  Wooliver,  busy  with 
her  knitting. 

"Disappeared!"  sa'd  Pete;  "The  saloon's  been 
shut  all  day." 

"You  don't  say!"  eclalmed  Ma,  dropping  her 
knitting  In  her  lap.  "Do  you  reckon  Sam's  laid  up 
with  a  bad  cold?  Because  my  cough-syrup  receipt 
'11  cure  a  cold  in  one  night." 

"He  ain't  In  the  saloon,"  answered  Pete,  "and  he 
don't  stay  at  the  house,  you  know,  since  that  little 
woman  of  his  stampeded  with  Devlin.  He's  gone 
off  somewheres.  There  was  two  pairs  of  tracks  lead- 
in'  up  over  the  divide  this  mornin'." 

"Who  could  've  come  for  him,  do  you  reckon?'* 
mused  Ma,  taking  up  her  knitting  again. 

"Well,  It  might  've  been  Devlin,"  ventured  Pete. 
"Sam's  been  actin'  mighty  queer  of  late — always  far 
away  and  forgetful  and  drinkin'  more  'n  a  man 
ought  to  for  his  own  good.  You  know,  they  say 
Devlin's  been  winnin'  big  pots  over  in  Black 
Tail " 

*Whatr  exclaimed  Ma,  utterly  abandoning  her 


LIFE'S   LURE  225 

knitting.  "Devlin?  In  Black  Tall?  When  did  you 
hear  that,  Pete?" 

*'0h — a  month  or  so  ago,"  replied  Pete  carelessly. 

"And  me  a-settin'  here  just  achin'  to  hear  a  word 
of  news  all  the  time!"  said  Mrs.  Wooliver.  "How 
could  you  be  so  careless  of  my  feelin's,  Pete?  W'y, 
of  course  It  was  Devlin  that  come  for  him!  I'd 
a-knowed  that  right  away  if  I'd  been  you.  Gracious 
me  I  What  do  you  suppose  '11  happen  next!  And 
what  could  Devlin  want  Sam  for?  Well,  whatever 
he  wants,  Sam  '11  up  and  give  It  to  him.  I  never 
see  the  like  of  him,  a-losin'  his  wife  the  way  he  did, 
and  just  settin'  and  mopin'  away  with  never  a 
thought  of  shootin'  nobody  up ! 

"If  it  wasn't  un-Chrlstian,  I'd  say  a  woman  'd 
ought  to  run  away  from  a  man  that  wouldn't  kill  to 
keep  her !  Of  course,  It  ainU  really  Christian  to  kill ; 
but  there's  times  when  a  man's  more  of  a  man  If  he 
ain't  quite — I  won't  say  It.  It's  one  of  them  things 
that's  so,  but  can't  be  said!  Only,  somehow,  I'd 
like  Sam  a  lot  better  If  he  'd  got  his  gun  and  hit  the 
trail  with  blood  In  his  eye !" 

"You're  a  first-class  man's  woman.  Ma!"  said 
Pete;  and  again  the  conversation  languished. 

"The  poor  little  foolish  thing,"  mused  Ma  aloud, 
replacing  her  disarranged  needles;  "likely  It  was  aw- 
ful tryin'  for  her,  llvin'  with  a  man  like  that.  And 
Devlin  must  've  seemed  so  wonderful  to  her.  I 
wonder  where  she  is,  the  poor  little  silly  goose  with 
her  peacock  feathers !" 


226  LIFE'S    LURE 

Pete  drowsily  enjoyed  the  middle  of  his  pipe, 
while  Ma  clicked  the  needles  and  mentally  rebuilt  the 
world.  A  half-hour  passed  in  silence,  and,  coming 
to  the  end  of  his  pipe,  Pete  got  up  and  stretched, 
preparatory  to  his  departure.  Ma  looked  up  from 
her  knitting  with  a  deeply  serious  face. 

'Tete,''  she  said,  "I  wisht  you  wouldn't  take  it 
for  a  joke  about  the  preacher;  'cause  I  can't  rest 
easy  till  they're  married  right.  You  know  the  stage 
can't  run  till  the  break-up  comes;  and  I  know  it's 
hard  walkin' ;  but  Pete " 

^Tll  go  afoot  after  the  preacher,  Ma,"  Interrupted 
Pete;  "I'll  start  early  In  the  mornin'.  And  we'll  get 
up  a  weddin'  for  practice,  Ma." 

After  Pete  left  the  house,  Mrs.  Woollver  sat  for 
some  time  with  her  hands  In  her  lap,  thinking  things 
out. 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  she  muttered  at  length;  "I'm 
afraid  the  worst  ain't  come  yet!  If  people  'd  only 
do  what  they  know  Is  Christian " 

Out  In  the  frosty  night,  the  doleful  voice  of 
Christmas  arose  in  attenuated  mourning.  Mrs. 
Woollver  hastily  took  up  her  knitting  and  fell  to 
work  with  exaggerated  energy.  Once  more  out  of 
the  white  silence  grew  the  voice  of  woe.  Mrs. 
Woollver  ignored  it,  knitting  faster.  But  when  the 
third  doleful  cry  arose,  she  got  up,  threw  her  shawl 
about  her  and  went  out  of  the  house,  intending  to 
capture  the  beast  and  purchase  Its  silence  with  un- 
limited sugar,  if  necessary. 


LIFE'S   LURE  227 

She  had  gone  some  little  distance  into  the  glint- 
ing night  when,  glancing  up  the  hill  toward  Drake's 
house,  she  saw  that  which  made  her  forget  the  pur- 
pose of  her  errand.  A  light  shone  through  the  win- 
dow where  for  months  all  had  been  dark  at  night! 
What  could  the  light  mean?  Mrs.  Wooliver  stood 
still  and  wondered.  If  it  meant  sickness,  it  was  plain 
to  her  that  she  ought  to  know  about  it.  But  Pete 
said  two  pairs  of  tracks  led  away  from  the  saloon 
that  morning!  Now  if  Sam  had  made  half  the 
tracks,  it  was  hardly  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he 
was  sick. 

Mrs.  Wooliver  found  herself  moving  toward  the 
light  as  by  magnetic  attraction;  and  the  nearer  she 
came  to  the  light,  the  easier  it  was  to  convince  her- 
self that  she  might  be  very  much  needed  in  that 
house.  Why?  The  fact,  disguised  in  a  covering 
of  genuinely  benevolent  intentions,  was  that  Mrs. 
Wooliver  was  profoundly  curious. 

So  she  steadily  approached  the  house,  arguing  to 
herself  the  while,  that  it  was  not  "nosiness,"  but  in- 
tuition that  Impelled  her.  Still,  when  she  had  come 
very  near  the  house,  she  decided  that  it  would  be 
well  to  peep  In  at  the  window  before  knocking  at 
the  door.  She  did  so  with  some  qualms  of  con- 
science, and  saw —  that  which  firmly  established  her 
right  to  knock! 

That  night  passed  and  the  next  day  and  the  next 
night.    And  when,  at  about  noon  of  the  second  day, 


228  LIFE'S    LURE 

Pete  came  blustering  Into  the  sitting-room  of  the 
Boss  Eating  House,  the  happy  smile  died  on  his  lips 
at  sight  of  Ma  Wooliver's  face.  It  was  worn  and 
pale  and  tear-washed.  She  was  sewing  nervously 
upon  a  long  black  garment. 

Pete  felt  the  need  of  a  joke,  and,  accordingly, 
made  the  easiest  one.  "W'y,  Ma,"  he  said,  "been 
gettin'  your  comfortable  little  cry  beforehand,  have 
you?  I  got  the  preacher,  Ma.  He'll  be  here  to- 
morrow sure." 

Tears  started  afresh  In  Mrs.  Wooliver's  eyes. 
**0h,  Pete,"  she  moaned;  "he'll  have  two  jobs — a 
weddin'  and  a  fun'ral!  Folks  Is  makin'  weddin' 
dresses  one  day,  and  the  next,  it's  grave  clothes! 
Oh,  Pete!" 

"What's  wrong.  Ma?"  asked  Pete,  clumsily  but 
tenderly  stroking  the  woman's  hair.  Mrs.  Wooliver 
braced  up  and  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"A  body  oughtn't  be  weak,  though,"  she  said, 
gulping  at  a  lump  In  her  throat;  "but  Pete,  I  ain't 
slep'  none  since  you  left.  Been  settin'  up  with  Sam 
— ^poor  Sam — his  poor  little  wife's  dead " 

Another  gush  of  tears  drowned  the  story  mo- 
mentarily. But,  In  accordance  with  the  artistic  law, 
that  to  express  Is  to  alleviate  sorrow,  Mrs.  Wooli- 
ver grew  calmer  as  she  recounted  what  had  befallen. 

"I  seen  a  light  In  his  house  the  night  you  left," 
she  continued,  having  regained  control  of  herself; 
"and  of  course  I  went  up,  thinkin'  mebbe  Sam  was 
sick  and  needed  help.     And  Sam  opened  the  door 


LIFE'S   LURE  229 

— lookin'  like  ashes.  I  never  see  such  a  grief- 
struck  man,  Pete !  And  I  went  in,  and  there  was  his 
little  wife  a-layin'  In  bed — nothin'  but  a  skinful  of 
bones,  and  big  round  eyes  starin' !  And  she  so  pretty 
once !  I  declare,  the  sight  '11  never  leave  me  to  my 
dyin'  day !  And  I  went  up  to  the  bed  and  spoke  to 
her  as  If  nothin'  was  wrong,  and  she  grabbed  my 
hands  with  her  thin  httle  bird-claw  fingers,  and  says 
she,  hardly  above  a  whisper,  though  she  looked  like 
she  was  yellin'  loud,  'Don't  let  him  kill  Louis — you 
won't  let  him — will  you?  Please  don't  let  him  kill 
poor  Louis!'  And  I  didn't  say  anything,  but  just 
stroked  her  hair;  and  finally  she  closed  her  horrible 
big  eyes — I  was  so  glad  she  closed  'em — and  dozed 
off. 

**And  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  bit  of  hot  broth  'd 
help  her,  and  so  I  run  down  here  and  made  some 
and  hurried  back.  And  when  I  got  there  she  was 
starin'  at  the  ceilin',  wild,  like  she  was  seein'  some- 
thing terrible ;  and  when  she  heard  me  come  In,  she 
give  a  jump  and  tried  to  get  up.  *0h,'  she  says, 
*LouIs — did  you  come  back — you've  been  gone  so 
long' — ;  and  she  fell  back,  breathin'  hard  like  she 
had  run  a  mile. 

"And  I  went  up  to  her  and  I  says,  'Here's  a  bit 
of  broth ;  you  must  take  It  and  get  strong.'  And  she 
turned  them  horrible  big  eyes  on  me,  lookin'  me  all 
over,  and  she  says,  'You're  not  him — I  can't  eat 
till  he  comes.  He'll  be  here  In  just  a  little  bit  now, 
'cause  he's  been  gone  so  long.    It  snowed,'  she  says. 


230  LIFE'S   LURE 

'so  much  that  he  couldn't  get  back.'  And  then  she 
dozed  again.  And  all  the  while  Sam  set  in  the  cor- 
ner holdin'  his  head. 

"Nothin'  hurts  me  like  seein'  a  big  man  settin'  in 
that  terrible  still  way  with  his  heart  breakin'.  So  I 
tip-toed  over  to  him  and  put  my  hand  on  his  hair. 
And  he  jumped  up,  glarin'  at  me  with  murder  in  his 
eye.  Oh,  God!  what  a  face  he  had! — gray  and 
pinched  and  the  teeth  showin' !  'Oh,'  he  says,  like 
a  man  comin'  out  of  a  dream,  'is  that  you,  Mrs. 
Wooliver?  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Wooliver,'  he  says. 
And  then  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  holdin* 
his  head. 

"And  'long  about  daybreak,  his  wife  roused  up 
and  she  says  to  me — and  her  face  looked  like  a 
snow  waste  just  before  night — you  know? — and  she 
says  to  me,  'We're  in  Venus  now,  ain't  we?'  And  I 
says,  'Yes,  ain't  it  a  nice  place  here?'  And  she  says, 
'Yes,  because  there  ain't  ever  any  deep  snow  here— 
never,  never,  never  any  deep  snow.'  " 

Mrs.  Wooliver  stopped  for  a  moment  while  she 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"How  'd  she  get  back  from  where?"  asked  Pete 
huskily. 

"Sam  found  her  over  in  a  cabin  on  Sand  Creek 
a-starvin'  to  death.  Louis  'd  forgot  her,  and  Sam 
carried  her  all  the  way  back  in  his  arms.  She  wasn't 
very  heavy  no  more,  I  reckon." 

Pete,  with  his  fists  clenched,  swore  under  his 
breath. 


LIFE'S    LURE  231 

"And  all  day  I  couldn't  get  her  to  eat  nothln'," 
Mrs.  Wooliver  went  on.  "She  said  she  had  to  wait 
for  Louis.  And  night  come,  and  I  could  see  she  was 
gettin'  weaker.  A  queer  little  pucker  come  about 
her  mouth,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  get  bigger  and 
brighter,  and  she  picked  at  the  bed-clothes.  I 
knowed  there  wasn't  nothin'  a  body  could  do  but 
pray  good  and  hard,  because  it  was  just  plain  starv- 
in'  to  death — starvin'  both  ways,  and  starvin'  for 
grub  ain't  the  worst. 

"All  the  while  Sam  seemed  like  a  man  as  wasn't 
more  'n  half  there — ^^didn't  seem  to  realize  what  was 
goin'  on,  though  I  see  the  change  comin'  fast.  And 
by  and  by,  about  midnight,  she  asked  for  Sam,  and 
I  brought  him  over  to  the  bed,  hopin'  they'd  make 
up  before  she  died.  And  she  begun  to  beg  Sam  not 
to  kill  Louis.  But  Sam  only  shook  his  head,  with 
big  tears  runnin'  off  the  tip  of  his  nose.  Then  she 
seemed  to  get  strong  all  to  oncet,  and  got  up  on  her 
knees,  and  flung  her  thin  arms  about  his  neck. 
*0  Sam  I  Sam!'  she  says,  'if  you  ever,  ever 
loved  me,  Sam,  promise  me  you  won't  hurt  him — 
because  I'm  to  blame,  Sam — I'll  haunt  you 
when  I'm  a  ghost  if  you  don't  promise — oh, 
promise !' 

"And  Sam's  eyes  went  savage  again,  and  he 
pushed  her  back  on  the  pillow.  'I  won't  promise,' 
he  says  between  his  teeth.  Then  he  went  pacin'  up 
and  down  the  room  again.  She  laid  there  gaspin' 
like  a  fish  out  of  water  for  a  spell;  and  by  and  by 


232  LIFE'S    LURE 

she  give  a  little  scream — and  stiffened  out — shiv- 
erin' " 

Ma  pressed  the  unfinished  shroud  to  her  eyes  and 
sobbed  awhile.  Then  she  got  up  and  went  to  the 
window. 

"Nellie's  man  is  up  on  the  hillside  diggin'  the 
grave/'  she  said.  *'Ain't  it  a  queer  world  some- 
times, though?  A  bridegroom  diggin'  a  gravel 
Pete,  mebbe  you'd  better  go  help  the  poor  boy;  the 
ground's  so  hard  this  time  of  year." 

Pete  went  out  with  wet  eyes,  swearing  under  his 
breath,  and  Ma,  with  redoubled  energy,  fell  to 
stitching  at  the  shroud. 


lY 


The  preacher  came  afoot  over  the  burro  trail 
from  Deadwood.  Having  performed  the  funeral 
ceremony,  the  grave  on  the  hillside  was  filled;  and 
the  minister,  adjusting  his  voice  to  another  ritual, 
officially  joined  Punkins  and  Nellie. 

"Here's  luck!"  said  Pete,  grasping  the  hand  of 
the  brand-new  husband;  "and  you've  sure  took  a 
trick  early  in  the  game !" 

Ma  bit  her  lips  and  frowned  virtuously.  "We 
might  as  well  make  a  clean  sweep  of  it,"  she  said  to 
the  man  of  ceremonies,  "and  sprinkle  the  baby 
while  we're  about  it."     And  it  was  done. 

And  so  in  one  day,  as  the  preacher  observed  upon 
completing  his  triple  task,  the  three  unanswered  rid- 
dles of  the  sphinx  of  human  life  were  propounded 
in  Bear  Gulch. 

"Well,  Ma,"  remarked  Pete,  as  he  walked  home 
with  Mrs.  Wooliver,  "you've  had  your  comfortable 
little  cry  back'ards  and  for'ards  to-day!" 

"And  up'ards!"  added  Ma,  "for  the  baby." 

The  big  thaw  came;  the  gulches  boomed  with 


234  LIFE'S    LURE 

flood;  and  the  wild  flowers  blossomed  at  the  lip  of 
the  retreating  snow.  Drake  seldom  left  the  saloon 
and  rarely  spoke.  He  "had  a  way,"  as  Pete  pointed 
out  to  Mrs.  Wooliver,  "of  actin'  like  there  was  a 
hole  plumb  through  you,  and  him  always  lookin' 
through  it."  The  business  ran  itself,  the  thirsty 
customer  helping  himself  and  depositing  gold  dust 
according  to  his  honesty.  Drake  had  lost  Avarice, 
his  dominant  vice;  nor  had  some  virtue  replaced  it 
— a  terrible,  an  ominous  loss ! 

"Ld  hate  to  meet  a  man  that  was  waitin'  for  me 
with  a  face  like  that!"  Pete  observed. 

The  nights  had  become  hideous  to  Drake,  for  the 
blue  flies  had  returned  with  the  spring,  and  the  buz- 
zle  and  boom  on  the  window-panes  could  no  longer 
be  denied  as  a  vagary.  They  were  there — with 
their  damned  hideous  buzzing — they  racked  his 
nerves.  And  there  was  only  one  thing  that  could 
silence  them — whiskey — much  whiskey.  Only,  when 
the  liquor  had  died  out,  they  were  there  again,  buz- 
zing, booming,  up  and  down  the  panes.  And  then 
Drake  would  get  up,  stagger  out  into  the  night,  over 
to  the  hillside  where  the  new  grave  was. 

In  the  gray  of  morning  Mrs.  Wooliver,  starting 
her  kitchen  fire,  often  saw  him  coming  slowly  down 
the  hillside;  and  her  heart  ached  for  him.  "Pete," 
she  would  say,  "ain't  there  something  as  we  can  do 
for  the  poor  boy?" 

"No,  Ma,"  Pete  would  answer,  "it's  the  killin' 
hunger — that's  all." 


LIFE'S    LURE  235 

One  moonlit  May  night,  something  curious  hap- 
pened at  the  King  Nugget  Saloon;  at  least,  the  spec- 
tators could  not  explain  it  satisfactorily  to  them- 
selves. The  place  was  full  that  night.  A  big  game 
was  In  progress,  and  the  hush  that  clings  about  the 
imminent  opening  of  a  jackpot  had  fallen  upon  the 
room. 

Suddenly,  the  door  was  opened,  rather  more  nois- 
ily than  was  necessary.  All  but  the  five  players 
started  and  turned  toward  the  door. 

Devlin  stood  there  in  a  flood  of  moonlight — his 
long  hair  blowing  in  the  night  breeze. 

With  a  savage  growl,  Pete,  who  had  been  observ- 
ing the  game,  drew  his  guns,  and  the  hammers 
clicked  in  the  hush  as  he  covered  the  man  in  the 
door. 

Devlin  did  not  flinch.  He  folded  his  arms,  and 
with  eyes  expressive  of  infinite  sorrow,  gazed  upon 
Drake,  who  sat  staring  aghast.  Devlin  seemed  un- 
conscious of  the  others.  Just  so  the  hero  of  a  melo- 
drama might  appear,  superb  In  the  mock  moonlight, 
calm  before  death,  with  folded  arms  awaiting  the 
end — and  the  applause  of  the  galleries ! 

A  husky  voice  broke  the  silence;  it  was  Drake's. 
''Hold  upr  he  cried. 

Faces  of  disgust  were  turned  upon  him.  Pete 
lowered  his  guns  and  swore  under  his  breath. 

"I  wish  to  speak  a  moment  with  you,  Sam,  my 
friend,"  said  Devlin,  in  the  round,  well-modulated 
voice  of  an  actor. 


236  LIFE'S    LURE 

Drake  got  up  from  the  chair  In  which  he  had  been 
sitting — moving  like  an  automaton — and  followed 
Devlin  out  into  the  night.  When  the  two  had  van- 
ished, a  buzz  of  wonder  arose  in  the  bar-room. 
Opinion  was  divided  as  to  what  would  happen,  and 
several  bets  were  laid  upon  the  outcome. 

At  length,  the  crack  of  a  pistol  shot  came  rattling 
up  the  gulch.  A  heavy  hush  fell  in  the  room.  Sym- 
pathy was  all  with  Drake.     Who  had  fired? 

Some  moments  later,  another  shot  was  heard. 
Would  there  be  another?  The  first  must  have 
missed — and  whose  shot  was  it?  Or  had  one  man 
fired  both? 

The  listeners  in  the  bar-room  waited  breathlessly 
for  the  sound  of  Drake's  returning  footsteps.  But 
this  was  what  had  happened. 

Devlin  walked  rapidly  down  the  gulch,  Drake  fol- 
lowing as  in  a  dream.  They  came  to  an  open  space 
In  the  underbrush,  filled  with  a  dazzling  flood  of 
moonlight.  Devlin  turned  and  looked  upon  Drake 
with  eyes  deepened  by  sadness. 

"Do  not  accuse  me,  Sam,"  said  he,  with  little 
trace  of  emotion  in  his  voice;  ''and  demand  no  ex- 
planations. Why  explain  anything  that  has  hap- 
pened? There  Is  only  one  thing  for  us  to  do  now — 
I  am  ready.  Back  to  back — fifteen  paces — and  fire. 
Here  are  two  guns — choose." 

Drake,  feeling  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare,  chose, 
and  obeyed  mechanically.  They  stood  back  to  back, 
walked    fifteen    paces,    Devlin    giving    the    count. 


LIFE'S   LURE  237 

Drake,  actuated  by  a  sudden  desire  to  kill,  saw  red 
moonlight,  wheeled  at  the  count — and  fired  wild. 

Devlin  did  not  move.  His  face  was  uplifted,  and 
the  light  struck  it  full. 

Drake  took  a  slow,  cool  aim  at  the  dazzling  face 
cut  clear  against  the  background  of  dark  pines.  He 
set  his  teeth;  he  meant  to  kill  at  last. 

But  suddenly — was  it  an  hallucination? — he  saw 
Joy  there  across  the  sights,  with  her  thin  arms  about 
her  lover's  neck!  She  seemed  made  of  mist  and 
moonlight — transparent.  And  all  the  night  seemed 
suddenly  filled  with  a  woman's  wailing:  ^'Oh,  prom- 
ise— or  ril  haunt  youT  The  famous  line  began 
running  in  his  head — ^^woman  wailing  for  her 
demon  loverF*  Over  and  over,  with  inconceivable 
rapidity,  it  passed  through  his  brain. 

His  pistol  arm  trembled,  though  he  summoned  all 
his  strength  to  hold  it  still.  He  fired  again — right 
through  the  clinging  wraith — and  closed  his  eyes  to 
shut  out  the  horror  of  the  thing  he  had  done. 

"I've  missed,"  he  thought;  and  stood  waiting  for 
the  shot  that  he  felt  sure  would  come. 

He  waited  for  the  shot — longed  for  it. 

It  seemed  that  hours  passed,  and  still  he  waited. 
When  at  last  he  opened  his  eyes  shudderingly,  the 
moonlit  space  was  empty.  Devlin  had  vanished — 
and  the  clinging  ghost  with  him ! 

*'And  the  funniest  thing  about  it,"  said  Pete,  re- 
lating to  Mrs.  Wooliver  what  had  taken  place  in  the 
bar-room,  "is  that  we  can't  find  no  corpse  after  all 


238  LIFE'S    LURE 

that  shootin' !  And  when  Sam  come  back,  he  acted 
queer — mighty  queer — daffy  like — and  he  says  to 
me,  talkin*  like  a  man  that  has  seen  a  spook,  *Do  you 
reckon  a  man  could  kill  the  devil?'  '* 


With  the  opening  of  spring,  Punklns  had  once 
more  begun  work  upon  his  claim  at  the  head  of  Po- 
tato Gulch.  The  renewed  association  with  the  old 
place  did  not  by  any  means  depress  him;  rather,  It 
encouraged  him;  for,  comparing  his  present  self 
with  the  self  of  a  year  back,  he  was  filled  with  some 
admiration  at  the  change. 

A  year  ago!  What  a  greenhorn  he  must  have 
been!  Punklns  conjured  up  the  picture  of  himself 
and  chuckled.  A  year  can,  Indeed,  make  wonderful 
advancement  in  a  person  of  superior  gifts!  Why, 
how  much  steadier  he  felt,  how  much  safer!  It 
was  the  difference  between  a  little  homesick  boy, 
missing  the  apron  strings  of  his  mother,  and  a  full- 
fledged  man  of  a  family.  What  power  and  poise 
there  was  In  the  consciousness  of  that  distinction ! 

Punklns  no  longer  dreamed  of  a  million  dollars. 
And  to  think  that  he  had  once  hoped  to  acquire  that 
fabulous  amount  by  merely  scratching  the  surface ! 
He  asked  very  little  of  Fortune  now.  As  one  grew 
old,  he  observed  to  himself,  one  wanted  less  and 
less.  He  would  be  satisfied  with  {\ve  thousand  dol- 
lars, or  even  with  two  or  three  thousand.     With 

239 


240  LIFE'S    LURE 

such  a  sum  he  could  buy  back  the  old  place  and  en- 
large the  house,  so  that  Mother  and  Jane  might 
have  a  room  to  themselves. 

No,  Indeed,  one  should  not  "count  one's  chickens 
before  they  were  hatched!"  He  remembered  hav- 
ing heard  old  Bill  Haines  say  that,  and  he  wondered 
why  it  had  meant  so  little  to  him  at  the  time.  From 
the  eminence  of  a  married  man's  dignity,  Punkins 
was  at  last  able  to  grant  that  mere  age  does 
bring  with  it  a  certain  wisdom;  not  comparable, 
however,  to  that  wisdom  one  acquires  from  hard 
knocks ! 

His  heart  saddened  slightly  at  the  thought  of 
Mother  and  Jane.  In  fact — though  it  was  one  of 
those  intimate  little  soul-flashes  that  are  hidden  ut- 
terly— Punkins  felt  a  shy  and  immediately  denied 
regret  that  he  had  not  stayed  with  them  back  on  the 
little  farm.  He  wondered  what  had  become  of 
them.  Were  they  well?  Were  they  working  too 
hard?  Certainly  he  would  hear  from  them  soon, 
for  he  had  written  them  immediately  after  his  wed- 
ding. His  letter,  as  he  now  recalled  it,  had  been 
rather  wise  and  grown-up,  calculated  to  reestablish 
confidence. 

Punkins  toiled  early  and  late.  To  be  sure,  Nellie 
pointed  out  to  him  the  folly  of  working  a  ''salted" 
claim;  but  Punkins,  in  the  calm  superiority  of  man- 
hood, merely  smiled  at  the  objections.  The  best  of 
women  had  a  way  of  seeing  the  black  side  of 
things,    he    observed   to    himself.     Somehow,   they 


LIFE'S    LURE  241 

seemed  to  lack  insight.  Witness  his  own  mother. 
But,  you  see,  Punkins  wasn't  going  in  for  surface 
mining  this  time.  He  was  running  a  drift  back  into 
the  bank;  after  awhile,  he  would  sink  a  shaft  to  bed 
rock — and  then,  perhaps  his  wisdom  would  be  more 
apparent!  Not  that  he  hoped  to  find  much  gold! 
No!  A  little  would  satisfy  him  now.  He  would 
get  enough  merely  to  buy  back  the  little  farm,  with 
a  comfortable  sum  left  over.  But  one  never  could 
tell — one  might  strike  it  rich! 

And  so,  although  he  counted  no  unhatched 
chickens,  he  did  build  visionary  hen-yards ! 

Peep  of  day  found  Punkins  on  the  road  to  his 
claim,  and  the  dark  overtook  him  on  the  homeward 
trail.  So  it  happened  that  he  lost  sight  of  the  go- 
ings and  comings  in  Bear  Gulch.  An  outside  ob- 
server, watching  him  stride  homeward  through  the 
evening  twilight,  timing  his  rapid  gait  to  a  merrily 
whistled  tune,  would  certainly  have  said,  *'Now 
there  goes  a  happy  young  man!" 

Mrs.  Wooliver,  however,  saw  otherwise.  Sitting 
on  the  front  stoop  of  the  Boss  Eating  House  one 
evening  in  June,  she  watched  Punkins  pass,  whistling 
as  he  went.  *'Poor,  poor  boy!"  she  sighed,  when 
he  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom.  "It  does 
seem  like  some  folks  is  follered  by  the  Devil!"  she 
went  on,  speaking  to  herself.  "Poor  boy!  I  wisht 
I  could  muster  up  courage  to  tell  him.  I'd  ought  to 
knowed  you  couldn't  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks. 
Gracious!     It's  a  wonder  men  likes  us  at  all,  the 


242  LIFE'S    LURE 

way  some  of  us  women  folks  takes  on !  If  Pete  was 
only  here!" 

All  this  would  have  been  quite  Incomprehensible 
to  Punkins ;  for  Nellie  had  neglected  to  inform  Pun- 
kins  as  to  the  fact  that  Monte  Joe  had  come  back 
a  few  days  before;  and  Punkins,  being  a  home- 
keeping  man  of  a  family,  had  not  his  finger  upon  the 
pulse  of  popular  events. 

Now  it  happened  at  this  time,  that  the  baby 
needed  summer  clothing.  Nellie  pointed  out  the 
crying  need  to  her  spouse,  and  suggested  the  neces- 
sity of  supplying  It  at  once.  No  suitable  material 
for  baby  clothes  was  available  in  Bear  Gulch,  so 
Punkins  must  go  to  Deadwood.  He  could  walk 
over  on  Monday,  make  his  purchases  on  Tuesday, 
and  return  on  the  Wednesday  stage.  Punkins 
needed  a  rest,  anyway,  as  Nellie  pointed  out. 

So  Punkins  started  Monday  morning,  with  a  sack 
In  which  to  carry  the  needed  supplies.  Before  go- 
ing, he  strapped  on  a  revolver,  as  he  did  so,  sug- 
gesting mysteriously  that  *'he  might  see  somebody 
he  didn't  like."  Being  a  strong  walker,  he  reached 
Deadwood  at  noon. 

It  occurred  to  Punkins  that  a  letter  might  be  wait- 
ing at  the  grocery  store  post-office  for  the  Wednes- 
day stage.  He  inquired,  and  received  one  from  his 
mother.  It  was  in  answer  to  his  own  concerning  the 
wedding,  and  it  was  little  else  than  a  heart-broken 
wail,  begging  him  to  come  home.  Oh,  the  terrible, 
gripping,  smothering  sordidness  of  it!     Tears  came 


LIFE'S    LURE  243 

into  Punkins'  eyes,  and  rolled  down  his  cheeks  as  he 
read  it.  Mother  had  been  very  sick,  and  "poor  lit- 
tle Jane,"  the  letter  said,  had  been  supporting  both 
with  her  earnings  from  the  Pottses! 

The  hidden  soul-flash  flared  big  in  Punkins.  For 
a  terrible  moment  he  confessed  to  himself  that  he 
wanted  to  be  at  home.  Oh,  if  he  had  only  never 
seen  Nellie — never  left  home!  But  the  revulsion 
following  the  shameful,  cowardly  moment,  braced 
him.  No !  He  must  do  his  duty  by  Nellie  and  the 
baby — succeed  with  his  gold  mine — and  then,  home ! 
Oh,  they  would  all  live  happily  yet!  God  would 
look  after  an  honest,  faithful  man ! 

Punkins  bought  some  paper  and  envelopes,  and 
answered  the  letter.  He  filled  it  with  love  and 
hope;  begged  his  mother  and  sister  to  be  brave  until 
he  could  go  back  a  successful  man.  "Ma,"  he 
wrote,  "I  didn't  tell  you — but  I've  got  a  little  baby 
to  look  after  now,  and  I  got  to  make  money."  Hav- 
ing mailed  the  letter,  Punkins  felt  sufficiently  braced 
to  go  about  his  business. 

The  store-keeper  was  news-hungry;  and,  learning 
that  his  customer  had  just  come  over  from  Bear 
Gulch,  launched  forth  into  a  conversation  concern- 
ing that  locality.  Intending  to  be  only  affable,  he 
was  much  more.  While  measuring  the  baby  clothes 
material,  he  said:  "Baby  clothes,  eh?  That  re- 
minds me — you  had  a  weddin'  over  there  last 
winter!" 

Punkins  granted  the  fact  with  a  smile  of  pride, 


244  LIFE'S    LURE 

fully  intending,  at  the  psychological  moment,  to  re- 
veal himself  as  the  hero  of  the  event. 

^'Curious — wasn't  it?  I'll  be  damned  if  I'd 
a-thought  that  Nell  would  go  and  settle  down,  after 
what  she's  been  through !" 

Punkins'  face  flushed  with  anger  at  the  familiar 
manner  of  the  man.  *'Nell!"  One  would  think  he 
knew  her  intimately!  The  man  tied  up  the  pack- 
age, weighed  out  the  gold  dust,  and  leaned  across 
the  counter.  Punkins  thrust  the  package  into  his 
sack,  and  prepared  to  Jeave  the  place. 

"Anything  else  to-day?"  asked  the  store-keeper. 
Punkins  sulkily  shook  his  head.  "Damned  funny,  I 
say,"  the  store-keeper  went  on  affably;  "W'y,  I 
knowed  Nell  out  in  Californy — let's  see — eight,  ten, 
no,  twelve  years  ago  come  this  fall!  And  I'll  be 
cussed  if  she  didn't  look  as  old  then  as  the  last  time 
I  paid  her!  Placer  Nell!  God  only  knows  how 
old  that  woman  is!  Seems  to  've  been  in  every 
placer  camp  on  the  map! — Say,  Monte  Joe's  pretty 
thick  with  her,  ain't  he?  I  guess  she  kept  him  quite 
a  spell.  I  hear  he  went  over  there  last  week — 
short  of  ready  money,  probably.  And  they  say  she 
married  a  young  tenderfoot  that  got  run  out  of 
camp  for  sluice-robbing!" 

Sluice-robbing  f 

Punkins  had  just  about  reached  the  fighting  point; 
but  the  last  words  wilted  him  completely.  Sick  at 
heart,  he  hurried  out  of  the  store  and  took  the  trail 
for  Bear  Gulch. 


LIFE'S    LURE  245 

An  Inferno  of  conflicting  emotions  raged  In  him; 
for  the  more  some  natures  love,  the  more  virulent 
IS  the  poison  of  suspicion.  Often  he  paused  In  his 
headlong  flight,  urged  by  a  mad  but  cringing  desire 
to  go  back  and  kill  the  store-keeper.  But  the 
thought  of  Monte  Joe's  being  In  Bear  Gulch  started 
him  faster  down  the  trail. 

What  did  the  store-keeper  mean?  Kept  Monte 
Joe?  Kept  him?  Pretty  thick  with  her?  Why, 
Punklns  knew  that  to  be  a  barefaced  lie !  For 
hadn't  his  own  Nellie  explained  all  that  to  him — 
about  the  money  for  her  mother's  funeral,  and  how 
Joe  took  advantage  of  her  on  account  of  It?  That 
was  the  way  of  the  world,  Punklns  philosophized  In 
a  calmer  mood.  It  never  saw  the  good  when  It  was 
possible  to  see  the  bad.  Of  course  the  store-keeper 
was  a  liar!  Why,  he  never  knew  Nellie !  Thought 
he'd  be  smart,  likely.  As  for  Monte  Joe — just  wait ! 
Punklns  would  shoot  him  at  sight,  like  the  yellow 
dog  he  was ! 

It  was  dark  when  Punklns  entered  Bear  Gulch  at 
a  swinging  stride.  Nellie  would  be  In  bed,  he 
thought;  and  he  looked  forward  to  the  joy  of  sur- 
prising her.  "I  just  thought  I'd  surprise  you,  Nel- 
lie !"  He  muttered  the  words  In  anticipation  of  the 
domestic  event. 

But,  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  hut,  he  observed 
that  Nellie  was  not  yet  in  bed.  At  least,  a  light 
was  burning  brightly  In  the  house,  and  Punklns  very 
distinctly  heard  a  burst  of  laughter.     He  felt  a  little 


246  LIFE'S    LURE 

thrill  of  joy  at  the  sound.  Nellie  was  playing  with 
the  baby  before  It  went  to  sleep.  It  was  so  cute 
when  It  tossed  up  its  pink  feet  and  cooed  and  mum- 
bled Its  toes! 

Smiling,  he  tip-toed  up  to  a  window,  that  he  might 
enjoy,  for  a  secret  moment,  the  sacred  picture — his 
wife  playing  with  his  baby. 

But  Nellie  was  entertaining  a  visitor — Monte 
Joe! 

A  strange  weakness  came  over  Punkins — a  drop- 
ping away  of  the  foundations  of  life.  He  felt 
deathly  sick.  The  lamp-lit  room  swam  about. 
Then,  suddenly,  the  primitive  anger  of  the  robbed 
beast  gripped  him.  He  pulled  his  gun,  cocked  It, 
aimed  through  the  glass  at  the  unsteady  Image  of  his 
enemy.     How  It  danced  about — the  hated  image ! 

A  roar,  a  clatter  of  falling  glass  and  a  terrified 
shriek  from  within,  aroused  Punkins'  sense  of  fear 
again.  He  took  to  his  heels  and  ran  wildly  down 
the  gulch. 

Visions  of  a  mob,  and  himself  with  his  neck  In  the 
noose,  Increased  his  panic  terror.  Stumbling,  fall- 
ing, scrambling  wildly  to  his  feet,  he  fled  down  the 
gulch  Into  the  dense  pine-glooms — on  and  on. 

Late  In  the  night,  fatigue  overcame  him.  He 
crawled  into  a  bunch  of  brush  and  sobbed  himself 
into  a  devil-haunted  sleep. 

When  he  awoke,  the  dawn  was  sprinkling  through 
the  pines;  birds  sang;  and  the  world  was  saturated 


LIFE'S   LURE  247 

with  morning  odors.  For  a  hazy  moment  he 
smelled  the  clover-fields  back  on  the  home  farm — 
heard  the  birds  in  the  oak  that  shaded  his  bedroom 
window.  And  then,  fear  seized  him  again.  What 
had  happened?  Where  was  he?  Had  he  been  in 
a  nightmare? 

The  memory  of  the  thing  he  had  seen  through  the 
window  now  struck  him  like  a  blow.  He  remem- 
bered the  roar,  the  tinkle  of  falling  glass,  the 
scream.  Had  he  killed  Monte  Joe?  Would  they 
find  him  and  hang  him? 

He  got  to  his  feet,  staggering,  and  prepared  to 
flee.  But  just  then,  something  in  the  bank  of  a  gully 
near  him,  attracted  his  attention.  A  brilliant  yel- 
low splotch  glittered  there.  He  went  to  it,  and 
scratched  the  surface  with  his  fingers.  A  thin  glit- 
tering stream  of  yellow  dust  flowed  down  the  bank 
and  made  a  dazzling  puddle  at  his  feet ! 

He  shrank  back  with  a  feeling  of  awe  that  swal- 
lowed up  his  fear  of  men.  Gold!  At  one  knock, 
the  doors  of  happiness  had  swung  wide!  Gold! 
Untold  wealth  had  discovered  itself  just  at  the  mo- 
ment when  all  seemed  ended!  Clearly,  it  was  the 
act  of  God — the  good  God  who  knew  all  and  pitied 
all  I  It  was  the  answer  to  the  heartbroken  wail  of 
his  mother's  letter. 

Tears  of  joy  sprang  in  his  eyes  and  trickled  down 
his  cheeks.  In  that  moment,  he  repurchased  the 
old  farm,  built  a  costly  palace  upon  it,  bought  silk 
dresses  without  number,  heard  wonderful  melodies 


248  LIFE'S    LURE 

played  by  the  trained  fingers  of  Jane — struck  the 
whole  countryside  dumb  with  admiration! 

Now  he  would  go  home — home!  The  oft-de- 
nied little  soul-flash  was  no  longer  denied.  Nellie 
had  not  been  true  to  him.  The  brutal  words  of  the 
Deadwood  store-keeper  came  back  again  with  new 
and  convincing  meaning.  Nothing  in  all  the  world 
was  stable  but  Mother  and  Janie,  and  now  he  would 
go  back  to  them.  He  fell  forward  upon  the  beautiful 
stuff,  gathered  it  in  his  arms,  put  his  hot  face  close 
to  it  and  cried  thanks  to  God. 

Suddenly,  he  straightened  up  with  terror  In  his 
face.  Had  anyone  heard?  Oh,  the  beautiful  yel- 
low stuff!  What  if  someone  had  heard  and  it 
should  be  taken  from  him  after  all ! 

Nervously  he  began  gathering  up  the  visible  hap- 
piness. He  scraped  it  up  carefully.  How  to  carry 
It?  Oh — the  sack!  There  again  was  the  hand  of 
God.  He  unstrapped  it  from  his  back,  took  out  the 
package  and  tossed  it  aside.  He  filled  the  sack  so 
full  that  it  would  not  tie ! 

What  should  he  do — throw  away  some?  He 
felt  a  pang  of  regret  at  the  thought  that  he  could 
not  take  It  all.  He  scooped  out  a  double  handful 
and  looked  wistfully  upon  it.  How  much  was  that 
— a  thousand  dollars — five  thousand  dollars?  He 
faltered  long  In  the  act  to  throw  It  away — and 
ended  by  putting  it  in  his  pocket. 

He  now  found  that  he  could  tie  the  sack.  But 
could  he  carry  It?     The  thought  struck  him  cruelly. 


LIFE'S    LURE  249 

After  many  minutes  of  hesitation,  he  tried.  He 
could  not  even  shoulder  it ! 

Ah — gold  was  very  heavy — everybody  spoke  of 
how  heavy  gold  was!  That  was  why  it  always 
sank  to  bed  rock! 

With  trembling  hands  he  untied  the  knot  and 
took  out  another  double  handful.  Could  he  throw 
it  away — a  whole  handful  of  glittering  happiness? 
What  joy  might  not  this  bring  to  Mother  and  Jane ! 
He  put  that  also  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 

But  still  he  could  not  shoulder  the  sack.  With 
a  spasmodic  effort  of  the  will,  he  closed  his  eyes  and 
dipped  repeatedly  into  his  treasure  and  cast  It  away. 
After  all,  three-fourths  of  It  was  better  than  none ! 
But  every  thrusting  of  the  hand  into  the  sack  was 
like  stabbing  himself. 

Again  he  tied  the  sack,  and  found  that  he  could 
now  lift  it  to  his  shoulder.  But  the  weight  was 
crushing.     Oh,  the  dear  weight — how  he  loved  it! 

Nellie  and  the  baby  and  Bear  Gulch  and  Monte 
Joe  had  suddenly  grown  very  unreal  in  the  sunburst 
of  this  glorious  reality  under  which  he  staggered. 
He  tottered  off  through  the  dense  timber  toward 
the  East.  East — that  was  Johnson  Corners — 
home!  Keeping  his  face  to  the  morning  glow,  he 
pushed  on. 

The  glow  crept  up  the  pines,  and  the  bearer  of 
the  precious  sack  became  aware  that  his  breath 
pained  him,  that  his  temples  throbbed  as  though 
they  would  burst.     He  set  the  sack  down  to  rest. 


250  LIFE'S    LURE 

Certainly,  it  was  very  heavy;  but  he  was  strong. 
He  would  not  throw  away  another  ounce — not  even 
the  smallest  pinch ! 

He  shouldered  it  again  and  tottered  manfully  on 
into  the  wilderness.  The  sun  rose  high,  and  sank, 
and  the  stars  peeped  in  through  the  foliage.  Then 
an  overpowering  weakness  seized  the  toiler,  and  he 
lay  with  his  head  on  the  sack. 

How  dreadfully  quiet  the  night  was !  He  felt  a 
thought  of  Nellie  and  the  baby  nestling  up  to  his 
heart.  It  made  him  sob.  Why  couldn't  things  all 
work  out  together?  Oh,  they  could  have  been  so 
happy!  Why  couldn't  he  have  found  the  gold  be- 
fore the  terrible  glimpse  through  the  window?  And 
then,  like  a  slow  poison  working,  the  words  of  the 
store-keeper  came  back  one  by  one.  And,  after  all, 
how  could  one  tell?  Maybe  it  was  not  his  baby 
after  all  I  His  wounded  ego  steeled  his  heart.  She 
would  laugh  with  Monte  Joe,  would  she? 

He  swooned  away  and  was  in  Johnson  Corners. 
Mother  and  Jane  came  running  to  meet  him;  and 
then — it  was  dawn  in  the  wilderness.  He  blinked 
in  the  gray  light  for  a  moment,  then  leaped  up, 
shouldered  his  sack,  and  plunged  on  again  toward 
the  glow. 

But  his  shoulders  pained  him  a  little — ^just  a  very 
little!  He  had  often  been  that  sore  after  pitching 
hay  all  day !  He  would  get  over  that.  And,  really, 
the  sack  was  not  so  very  heavy.  Nevertheless,  he 
often  set  it  down,  panting. 


LIFE'S    LURE  251 

When  the  sun  broke  through  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  he  remembered  that  he  had  not  eaten.  What 
should  he  eat?  A  squirrel  frisked  and  chattered  on 
a  branch  over  his  head.  Could  he  kill  it  with  his 
revolver?  He  would  try.  He  took  good  aim. 
But  what  if  someone  should  hear  the  shot?  He  put 
the  gun  back  into  Its  holster,  and  shouldering  the 
sack,  forged  ahead.  There  were  wild  berries  grow- 
ing in  clumps  here  and  there.  He  would  eat  ber- 
ries. Berries  were  really  very  good  food — they 
kept  one's  blood  cool.  And  how  delicious  those 
berries  were!  But,  at  regularly  decreasing  Inter- 
vals, he  was  obliged  to  set  the  sack  down. 

That  night  his  sleep  was  filled  with  wonderful 
organ  melodies,  and  all  Johnson  Corners  was  gath- 
ered together  to  hear  Jane  play.  And  his  mother 
was  very  conspicuous  in  that  vast  throng — such  a 
shiny  red  silk  dress  as  she  wore  I  And  who  was 
that  beside  her?  Why — it  was  Nellie  with  the 
baby! 

He  got  up  that  morning  much  stiffer  than  before, 
and  when  he  tried  to  shoulder  the  sack,  he  groaned 
aloud.  Perhaps  it  was  too  heavy!  One  shouldn't 
want  too  much!  One  might  get  nothing  at  all  If 
one  wanted  too  much!  Wouldn't  it  be  wise  to — 
he  recoiled  at  the  thought — yes,  to  take  out  just  a 
little? 

For  an  hour  a  silent  battle  waged  within  him; 
and  then,  with  a  sense  of  choking,  he  untied  the 
sack  and  dipped  out  a  half-dozen  handfuls.   Hastily 


252  LIFE'S    LURE 

retleing  the  sack,  he  summoned  all  his  strength  and 
hurried  away  from  the  spot.  He  dared  not  look 
upon  all  that  wasted  wealth.  How  much  was  it 
that  he  had  thrown  away?  But  then,  was  he  not 
carrying  untold  wealth?  Ah,  that  only  showed 
how  very  rich  he  was !  Poor  men  could  not  throw 
away  gold  like  that !  The  thought  exhilarated  him, 
and  he  went  on  with  a  lighter  heart. 

Five  days  passed;  and  the  thought  of  Nellie  and 
the  baby  became  more  and  more  vague,  for,  as  the 
load  became  more  difficult  to  carry,  the  more  did 
the  glory  of  it  obsess  him,  and  his  face  was  turned 
toward  home.  During  that  time  he  ate  berries  and 
drank  from  occasional  streams.  But  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  sixth  day,  he  struggled  in  vain  to  shoulder 
the  load.  He  tried  repeatedly,  but  his  muscles  re- 
fused to  perform  the  task. 

He  buried  his  face  in  the  sack  and  wept.  Would 
it  all  go  like  that — little  by  little?  And  he  had  car- 
ried it  so  far  already!     It  meant  so  much  to  him  I 

He  lightened  the  load  until  he  could  get  it  to  his 
shoulder,  and  pushed  on.  As  he  went,  he  com- 
forted himself  with  the  determination  not  to  sacri- 
fice any  more — not  a  pinch  more !  Not  a  pinch — 
no,  not  if  he  should  be  dying  under  it ! 

The  sack  was  now  less  than  half  full. 

Many  days  passed;  he  kept  no  count  of  them. 
And  still  his  determination  gave  him  strength  for 
the  load  that  seemed  to  increase  daily.  And  with 
the  nights  came  dreams,  as  ever ;  only  they  began  to 


LIFE'S    LURE  253 

take  on  gray,  melancholy  tones;  and  sounds  of 
moaning  went  through  them.  All  through  the 
weary  days  he  turned  those  dreams  over  In  his 
mind,  until  they  haunted  him. 

One  night  he  saw  his  mother  and  Jane  very 
plainly.  They  were  both  weeping.  And  he 
thought  feverishly,  "It's  because  they  haven't  heard 
from  me."  Then  the  dream  changed,  and  he  was 
standing  In  the  grocery  store  at  Johnson  Corners; 
and  all  the  old  faces  were  there,  turned  expectantly 
upon  the  sack  that  he  had  just  placed  upon  the 
counter.  He  saw  the  old  Deacon  go  up  to  the  sack, 
untie  It  and  thrust  his  hand  In.  'Why,  it's  empty!" 
said  the  Deacon.  And  all  the  loungers  roared  with 
laughter.  And  the  grocer  said,  /'Came  to  buy 
clothes  for  Monte  Joe's  baby,  did  youf 

The  dreamer  awoke,  staring  Into  a  pale  sky,  and 
heard  the  multitudinous  chatter  of  birds  in  the  for- 
est about  him.  Eagerly  he  untied  the  sack,  and 
thrust  his  hand  into  It  that  he  might  give  the  lie  to 
the  dream.  It  was  there — the  beautiful,  glittering, 
priceless  stuff!  He  let  it  run  slowly  through  his 
fingers,  the  better  to  realize  the  unutterable  joy  of 
possession. 

All  that  day  he  struggled  under  the  load  with  a 
heart  almost  blithe.  It  was  as  though  he  had  really 
lost  his  treasure  and  regained  It,  so  vivid  had  been 
the  dream.  He  seemed  very  much  nearer  home 
that  day,  although  the  load  seemed  a  little  heavier. 
But  he  felt  stronger  to  bear  the  load. 


254  LIFE'S    LURE 

In  the  weary  fag-end  of  the  long  afternoon,  he 
topped  the  summit  of  the  last  hill,  and  there  before 
him  spread  the  vast  and  treeless  plain,  rimmed  with 
the  gray  mist  of  the  distance.  His  heart  sank.  He 
dropped  the  sack  to  the  ground  and  stood  staring 
blankly  at  the  far  horizon.  Somewhere  beyond  that 
rim  of  haze,  and  yet  other  rims  of  haze,  lay  home. 
Could  he  ever  cross  that  long,  lonesome  stretch? 
For  the  first  time  he  felt  the  terrible  meaning  of 
distance! 

Tears  ran  down  the  deepening  hollows  of  his 
cheeks  as  he  stared  upon  this  motionless,  treeless, 
pitiless  waste.  It  had  the  calm,  stern.  Inexorable 
look  of  Death.  One  can  travel  an  endless  trail  and 
still  hope,  so  long  as  one  cannot  see  the  way  length- 
ening out  before  him.  Heretofore,  he  had  been 
constantly  in  the  forest,  traversing  a  continuous  se- 
ries of  little  spaces.     But  this! 

Why  should  he  go  on  after  all?  It  would  be  so 
much  easier  to  die.  Die!  His  wan  face  flushed 
with  sudden  anger  at  the  treacherous  thought.  Die? 
And  what  would  become  of  Mother  and  Jane?  And 
the  farm  sold!  And  the  money  gone!  And  all 
the  neighbors  wagging  their  heads  and  saying  they 
knew  it  would  be  so ! 

No !  He  would  not  die !  He  would  rest  the  bal- 
ance of  the  day,  and  In  the  morning  he  would  be 
strong  again. 

But  the  next  morning  found  him  still  weak  and 
stiff   In  the  joints,  though  the  lure  of  home  was 


LIFE'S    LURE  255 

strong  in  him  again.  And,  haltingly,  ever  conscious 
that  the  weight  at  his  back  was  cruelly  heavy,  he 
pushed  on  toward  the  sun  that  made  a  path  of  fire 
ahead  of  him.  Somewhere  down  that  interminable 
path  of  fire  lay  Johnson  Corners. 

As  the  day  advanced,  he  began  to  feel  sharp  pangs 
of  hunger.  This  frightened  him.  In  the  forest 
there  had  been  an  abundance  of  berries.  But 
here 

He  remembered  the  teachings  of  his  mother,  and 
breathed  prayers  into  the  waste  about  him.  He 
prayed  for  meat !  After  hours,  he  neared  a  scrubby 
clump  of  plum  bushes  that  clung  to  the  arid  bank  of 
a  dry  gully.  Suddenly  he  was  aroused  from  a  mor- 
bid dream  of  starvation  by  a  sound  In  the  thicket. 
An  antelope  plunged  out  and  raced  across  the  plain. 
With  the  quick  instinct  that  prompts  the  hungry 
beast  to  kill,  he  dropped  the  sack,  snatched 
the  revolver  from  his  belt  and  emptied  the  re- 
maining five  shots  at  the  flying  animal.  The  ante- 
lope topped  a  barren  ridge  and  dropped  out  of 
sight. 

Punkins  flung  the  smoking  weapon  to  the  ground 
and  stamped  upon  it,  cursing  savagely. 

When  he  lifted  the  sack,  he  felt  childishly  angry 
with  It  for  being  so  heavy.  He  would  make  it 
lighter!  It  was  too  heavy!  What  was  the  use  of 
saying  it  wasn't? 

He  untied  the  knot  and  poured  a  fourth  of  the 
precious  stuff  on  the  ground.     Then  he  shouldered 


256  LIFE'S   LURE 

the  lessened  weight  and  pushed  on  rapidly,  trying  to 
believe  that  he  didn't  care. 

The  sun  rose  high;  the  far  undulations  of  the 
baked  plain  wavered  feverishly  In  the  heat,  as 
though  seen  through  fluttering  gauze.  He  watched 
the  blue-gray  patch  of  shade  at  his  feet  slowly  elon- 
gating Into  a  shadowy  finger  that  pointed  East;  and 
all  the  while  snatchy  visions  of  pumpkin  pies  and 
dumplings  and  corn  bread  came  and  went.  Sud- 
denly his  half-dream  state  was  broken  by  a  sound  of 
snarling,  snapping,  yelping,  as  of  many  dogs  fight- 
ing. Punklns  found  himself  near  the  brow  of  a 
little  hill.  The  sun  was  a  blotch  of  yellow  flame 
on  the  purple  rim  behind  him,  and  his  thin  gray 
shadow  stretched  up  the  slope  toward  the  sky 
ahead. 

He  tolled  on  up  the  slope  and  saw,  In  the  green 
valley  of  a  little  creek  beneath  him,  a  pack  of  coy- 
otes fighting  over  a  meal.  Now  again  the  lad's  hun- 
ger became  an  active  passion,  firing  his  will.  He 
shouted  hoarsely,  and  started  down  the  hillside, 
waving  his  arms.  The  coyotes  dispersed,  whining 
and  drooping  their  tails  like  whipped  dogs.  He 
found  the  torn  carcass  of  a  fawn  in  the  valley;  Its 
flesh  was  still  warm. 

That  night  he  feasted  on  raw  meat,  and  he  was 
almost  happy.  Here  was  food  for  days  If  taken 
sparingly.  And  how  good  the  muddy  water  of  the 
little  creek  was  I  It  ran  very  thin  among  dying 
reeds.     But  he  scooped  out  a  little  basin  and  tried 


LIFE'S   LURE  257 

to  Imagine  that  It  was  the  spring  that  bubbled  out 
under  the  old  oak  back  on  the  farm. 

But  in  the  gray  dawn,  a  cruel  perplexity  con- 
fronted him.  How  could  he  carry  the  sack  and  the 
meat  too?  Once  he  thought  he  would  eat  all  he 
could  and  abandon  the  rest.  But  the  memory  of  his 
hunger  cried  that  down.  What  should  he  do? 
Lighten  the  sack  again?  It  had  already  grown  so 
lank  that  It  set  snugly  about  his  shoulders  without 
support.     He  argued  long  with  himself. 

No  food — no  gold. 

Some  food — some  gold. 

He  ended  by  taking  all  the  meat,  and  three- 
fourths  of  the  remainder  of  the  once  plump  sack. 
The  meat  of  the  fawn  lasted  four  days;  and  during 
that  time  the  contents  of  the  sack  remained  un- 
touched, for  his  hunger  steadily  lessened  his  load. 

He  now  found  himself  In  a  perfectly  flat  table- 
land. His  dragging  feet  stirred  up  a  hot  acrid 
dust  that  choked  him.  And  for  the  first  time  he 
knew  how  thirst  can  dominate  hunger.  The  day 
passed,  and  still  the  arid  flat  stretched  out  before 
him — unchanged!  He  seemed  to  have  been  stand- 
ing still  all  day.  Only  the  dull  ache  of  his  back  and 
limbs  gave  the  He  to  this  featureless  plain  that 
taunted  him  with  having  remained  motionless  all 
day. 

The  night  flitted  past,  leaving  no  sense  of  dura- 
tion; and  with  the  dawn  he  was  up  again,  toiling 
under  the  sack.     His  thirst  had  grown  upon  him 


258  LIFE'S    LURE 

during  the  night.  So  he  forced  himself  to  think 
of  that  far  hour  of  his  triumph  that  he  might  not 
think  of  his  thirst. 

Bear  Gulch  had  now  become  as  an  all  but  forgot- 
ten dream. 

All  day  he  trudged  along,  painting  a  glorious 
mental  picture,  and  when  the  cool  of  the  evening 
came,  it  had  all  become  very  real;  so  real,  indeed, 
that  he  already  stood  in  the  grocery  store  at  John- 
son Corners,  feeling  a  little  light-headed,  to  be  sure, 
but  victorious.     He  talked  aloud,  it  was  so  real. 

"Ha,  ha!'*  he  laughed  hoarsely;  "thought  I  was 
a  fool,  eh?  Thought  farming  was  a  pretty  good 
business,  did  you?  Just  run  your  fingers  through 
that,  Bill  Haines !  Oh,  you  needn't  wiggle  your  old 
goat's  beard  like  that — it's  gold !  Walk  up,  gentle- 
men, and  heft  that  sack,  if  you  want  to!  Now 
where's  the  farm  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  that  you 
can  raise  that  on?" 

The  scene  changed. 

"Look,  Mother !  Look,  Jane !  Thousands  and 
thousands  of  dollars !  I  got  it  myself !  Oh,  I  had 
three  times  as  much  as  that,  but  I  got  so  tired  that 
I  just  couldn't  pack  it !  How'll  the  Pottses  feel,  do 
you  reckon?  We'll  buy  the  farm  back,  and  you 
won't  ever  have  to  work  any  more,  Mother  I  And 
you  can  have  lessons  and  lessons,  Jane!" 

Exalted  with  his  words,  he  had  lifted  his  face  to 
the  Eastern  sky.  He  stopped  short  and  gasped. 
There,  right  in  front  of  him,  only  a  little  way  ahead, 


LIFE'S   LURE  259 

he  saw  a  sparkling  river  flowing  through  green  pas- 
tures ! 

All  the  ache  and  heaviness  of  his  limbs  left  him. 
He  felt  light  as  a  feather,  and  powerful.  He  cried 
aloud  with  joy — water — water! 

He  set  out  at  a  trot,  no  longer  conscious  of  the 
weight  at  his  back.  He  sang  snatches  of  old  songs 
he  had  learned  at  the  singing  bees.  His  voice  was 
hoarse,  and  the  blithe  words  came  clumsily  from  his 
swollen  tongue. 

Suddenly,  a  thin,  oily  film  passed  over  the  river 
and  the  pastures.  Strange  gaps  opened  here  and 
there  In  the  scene.  Then  the  whole  became  agitated, 
indistinct  as  though  seen  through  a  bleared  eye. 

He  looked  again.  There  was  nothing  ahead  but 
the  arid,  featureless  flat  and  the  darkening  sky. 

That  night  was  filled  with  the  hideous  laughter 
of  a  hundred  grotesque  Deacons,  who  stared  into 
empty  sacks.  And  somewhere  in  the  burning  hol- 
low of  a  strange  world,  he  could  hear  the  moaning 
of  women. 

Suns  rose  and  set,  and  day  was  scarcely  distin- 
guished from  night.  Every  morning  a  little  more 
was  taken  from  the  sack  until  a  child  could  have 
shouldered  it.  Punklns  no  longer  tried  to  get  it  to 
his  shoulder.  He  carried  it  limply  In  his  arms  be- 
fore him.  And  every  morning,  as  he  lightened  his 
load,  he  prayed  the  same  prayer — O  God,  let  me  be 
stout  enough  to  pack  it! 


26o  LIFE'S    LURE 

But  one  day  when  he  had  grown  too  weak  for 
joy,  Punklns  came  to  a  place  where  the  table-land 
sloped  abruptly  Into  a  river  valley.  He  saw  before 
him  a  cluster  of  rude  houses.  Slowly,  painfully,  he 
made  his  way  Into  the  town,  and  coming  to  the  one 
store  with  Its  conspicuous  sign,  he  entered. 

Thrusting  a  lean  hand  into  his  pocket,  he  cast  a 
handful  of  the  precious  stuff  on  the  counter. 

*'Eat — drink/^  he  stammered. 

The  man  behind  the  counter  stared  at  this  bent, 
haggard  thing  that  should  have  been  twenty-one 
years  old,  but  was,  somehow,  sixty. 

"Why,  what's  this?"  asked  the  man,  brushing  the 
glittering  dust  about  with  a  careless  finger. 

At  last  the  embers  of  the  old  joy  flared  up  Into  a 
flame,  and  a  glow  of  triumph  went  across  the  ashen 
face  of  him  who  had  borne  the  sack. 

'7 A  goldF'  he  croaked.  **See!  Pve  got  almost 
a  sackful  of  itT^ 

"You  cussed  fool!'*  said  the  man  behind  the  coun- 
ter; "that's  nothing  but  mica — powdered  yellow 
mlcal" 


VI 


Monte  Joe  was  pouring  libations  to  the  dead. 
The  libations  were  being  poured  down  his  throat. 
There  Is  a  terrible  Isolation  about  grief,  and,  accord- 
ingly, Monte  Joe  was  drinking  by  himself.  How- 
ever, his  grief  was  being  freely  shared  with  the  few 
who  sat  that  morning  In  the  bar-rooln  of  the  King 
Nugget.  Joe  wept  Into  his  whiskey  and  gave  forth 
generously  of  his  woe. 

"But  It's  the  best  thing  she  ever  done,"  said  Joe, 
wiping  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  push- 
ing his  glass  across  the  bar  to  be  refilled.  *'The 
best  thing  she  ever  done.  Nell  wasn't  herself  no 
more.  All  the  get-up  and  dust  had  gone  plum  out 
of  her,  somehow.  Awful  sad!  I  know  It  ain't  the 
common  thing  for  a  man  like  me  to  stand  up  and 
bawl;  but  It's  enough  to  make  any  strong  man  break 
down — wakin'  up  of  a  mornin'  and  seein'  the  darlln' 
of  his  heart  hangin' — "  Joe  blubbered  and  had  to 
resort  again  to  the  whiskey  before  going  on; 
"hangin'  by  a — a — be — d  sheet  to  a  ra-a-after!" 

Joe  broke  down.  More  libations,  however,  re- 
stored him  somewhat. 

"It  hurts  a  man  of  fine  feelln's,"  he  continued 
261 


262  LIFE'S    LURE 

with  a  commendable  effort  to  be  brave  in  sorrow. 
*'It  hurts  him,  I  say,  to  have  a  woman  go  and  hang 
herself  right  under  his  nose  because  another  feller 
has  took  and  left  her!  By  God,  it's  hard  on  a  man 
of  tender  feelin's!" 

A  growing  resentment  at  the  thought  of  so  Indeli- 
cate an  act  braced  Joe  effectually. 

"Look  what  I've  been  to  Nell !  W'y,  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,  where'd  she  been  long  ago?  Didn't 
I  hustle  for  her — didn't  I  keep  her  business  goin'? 
And  it  was  just  'cause  I  had  a  feelin'  for  her!  That's 
why!  And  look  what  I  get!  You  can't  never 
trust  no  woman!  I  always  knowed  that;  but  some- 
how a  feller's  heart  gets  weak  and  he  fergits.  And 
you  think  she's  all  on  the  square  with  you,  and  you'd 
give  your  heart's  blood  for  the  woman;  and  she  pays 
you  by  runnin'  after  the  first  new  pair  of  pants  that 
comes  along! 

"That's  what  she  done  to  me,  gentlemen !  That's 
what  she  done !  Along  comes  that  little  greenhorn, 
fPunkins,  and  off  she  goes,  and  ain't  got  no  more 
smiles  for  me!  But  she  got  paid  for  it — that  she 
did.  Just  as  I  told  her.  ^Nell,'  I  says,  'anything's 
all  right  as  long  as  It's  business,  and  I  won't  hinder; 
but  charity  ain't  never  goin'  to  buy  you  nothin'  but 
trouble,'  I  says.  And  she  got  it,  just  as  I  said. 
Poor  Nell!" 

Joe  leaned  over  the  bar  and  hid  his  new  burst  of 
grief  In  his  arms  for  awhile.  Then  he  had  another 
drink,  and  went  on. 


LIFE'S    LURE  263 

"I  knowed  she  was  done  for  when  I  heard  she'd 
gone  and  got  married.  I  knowed  it  wouldn't  last. 
And  when  I  heard  about  It,  my  heart  pretty  near 
broke  for  Nell.  'Cause  a  woman  as  ain't  got  no 
secret  for  a  man  to  find  out,  ain't  goln'  to  keep  him 
long.  And  then  the  baby  made  it  worse.  Funny 
what  a  baby  '11  do  for  a  woman  like  that.  Seemed 
to  kind  of  give  Nell  religion.  W'y,  when  I  come 
back  a  couple  weeks  ago,  she  wouldn't  have  nothin* 
to  do  with  me.  And  I  says,  'Nell,  are  you  goln' 
back  on  your  old  friend?'  And  she  says,  apin'  Mrs. 
Woollver,  'I'm  changed,  Joe,  and  if  you've  got  any 
heart  In  you,  you'll  go  away  and  leave  me  be.' 

''Heart!  Just  as  though  It  wasn't  my  heart  that 
brung  me  back!  And  I  says,  'Nell,  just  give  me 
one  more  evenin'  like  old  times,  and  I'll  go  away 
and  never  come  back.'  And  she  says,  'Joe,  I  will; 
but  don't  look  for  me  to  be  like  old  times.  I  can't, 
Joe.' 

"That  was  once  when  I  waited  for  her  at  the 
spring,  and  she  come  for  a  pail  of  water.  And  so 
she  sent  Punkins  off  to  Deadwood.  And  I  went 
there  for  the  last  evenin',  and  I  begged  her  to  be 
like  old  times,  just  once  more,  and  by  and  by  she  up 
and  laughed  right  in  my  face.  And  the  next  thing 
I  knowed,  I  was  shot  at  through  the  winder !  Here's 
the  hole  In  my  coat-sleeve!  That  was  a  damned 
close  shave !     Pretty  way  to  treat  a  man ! 

"And  do  you  suppose  she  cared  about  me?  Not 
her.  She  run  out  Into  the  night,  like  a  crazy  woman, 


264  LIFE'S   LURE 

a-yellln'  for  Punklns  and  tearin'  her  hair.  But  he 
didn't  stop.  You  could  hear  him  clatterin'  hell-bent 
down  the  gulch,  and  her  after  him.  Poor  little  fool  1 
He  was  scart  of  me,  I  guess. 

*'And  I  set  there  waitin'.  And  the  young  'n  woke 
up  and  hollered,  and  I  dandled  it  and  fussed  with  it 
till  mornin',  just  'cause  I  was  so  fond  of  Nell. 

"And  then,  by  and  by  in  the  gray  of  mornin',  she 
come  pokin'  back  up  the  gulch  all  white  and  wild. 
And  she  come  in  the  house  and  laid  down  on  the  bed 
with  not  a  word  about  me  bein'  shot  at,  and  pretty 
near  killed,  after  all  I  done  for  her!  She  didn't 
seem  to  have  no  sense. 

"And  I  says,  ^Nellie,  I  ain't  ever  goin'  to  leave 
you.  I'm  the  best  friend  you've  got  in  this  world,' 
I  says.    And  she  just  stared  at  me. 

"Things  went  on  that  way  for  several  days,  and 
I  'tended  to  her  and  the  young  'n.  And  every  now 
and  then  she'd  sort  of  come  to,  and  she'd  say,  'Do 
you  reckon  the  poor  boy'll  get  back  to  his  mother? 
'Cause  he  had  only  about  enough  to  buy  the  baby 
clothes  with.'  And  then  she'd  get  to  snivellin'  and 
sayin'.  Oh,  how  she  hoped  he'd  get  back  to  his 
mother  and  be  happy  again;  and  'Do  you  think  he'll 
ever,  ever,  ever  know  how  I  love  him,  Joe?'  And 
me  havin'  to  set  there  a-lookin'  after  his  young  'n 
while  she  blubbered  about  him!  Ain't  it  hell  on  a 
man  of  feelin's,  gentlemen? 

"But  yesterday  all  of  a  sudden  she  seemed  to  get 
her  sense  back.     Begun  to  laugh  just  like  she  used 


LIFE'S    LURE  265 

to  of  evenings  when  the  fiddles  was  goin*  and  the 
boots  thumpin'.  And  she  says,  all  of  a  sudden,  *Go 
and  get  a  bucket  of  whiskey,  Joe,  and  let's  raise  the 
roof!'  And  we  did!  Lord!  I  never  see  Nell 
more  herself  than  she  was  only  last  night!  I've 
knowed  lots  of  women,  but  nary  a  one  like  Nell 
when  she  got  to  goin' " 

Overpowered  with  a  flood  of  memories,  Joe  broke 
down  and  sobbed. 

"And  then — this  mornin' — Oh,  It's  enough  to  fin- 
ish a  man!" 

He  shambled  out  of  the  bar-room.  Sometime 
later  he  was  seen  utilizing  the  entire  stage  road  that 
led  up  over  the  divide.  Having  disappeared  over 
the  rim,  Bear  Gulch  knew  him  no  more. 

Mrs.  Wooliver,  having  heard  the  news,  had  at 
once  taken  charge  of  the  house  of  woe.  She  found 
Nell  hanging  from  a  rafter.  The  baby  was  crying 
on  the  floor.  Being  a  practical  woman,  Mrs.  Wool- 
iver first  got  the  body  down,  then  she  turned  her 
attention  to  the  baby.  "Poor  little  wet  thing!"  she 
cooed,  "it's  got  to  be  'tended  to  right  off!" 

Having  attended  to  the  matter,  she  put  the  baby 
to  sleep;  and  then  she  proceeded  with  the  task  at 
hand. 

After  considerable  thought,  Ma  decided  that  it 
would  be  better  to  do  without  the  preacher  this  time. 
"I  guess  I  know  about  her  even  better  'n  a  preacher 
could,"  she  said  aloud  to  herself.     "And  I'll  just 


266  LIFE'S   LURE 

tell  the  Lord  all  he  needs  to  know  myself."     And 
she  did  so,  praying  long  and  earnestly. 

Then,  out  of  her  own  earnings,  she  paid  for  the 
digging  of  the  grave.  No  one  in  Bear  Gulch  cared 
enough  about  Nell  to  donate  his  services;  and  Pete 
had  been  away  since  early  spring,  "diggin'  up  some 
more  clean  years  out  of  the  scen'ry,*'  as  he  put  it. 

When  Pete  returned,  several  weeks  after  the 
burial  of  Nellie,  he  found  Mrs.  Wooliver  playing 
with  a  baby. 

"Well  now.  Ma !"  he  began  banteringly.  "I  'd  a 
never  thought  it  of  a  single  woman  like  you !" 

But  Mrs.  Wooliver  blocked  the  good-natured 
sally  with  the  tale  of  Nellie's  passing.  He  sat  be- 
side her  in  silence  for  some  time  after  the  recital  of 
the  story.  Then  he  said,  drying  his  eyes  shame- 
lessly: "Well,  Ma,  I  got  my  homestake  once  more 
— not  much,  but  plenty  enough  to  buy  a  patch  of 
ground  and  a  cow  that  can  bawl.  Now  a  woman  as 
has  got  a  baby,  ought  to  have  a  man.  Ain't  I  the 
man?" 

And  Ma  kissed  him. 

So  it  happened  that  the  Boss  Eating  House  sus- 
pended business.  And  one  morning  In  midsummer, 
a  curious  procession  passed  up  the  hill  and  out  of 
Bear  Gulch  forever.  It  consisted  of  a  man,  a  burro, 
a  woman  and  a  baby.  The  woman  with  the  baby  In 
her  arms,  rode  on  the  burro.     The  man  led. 


VII 


In  the  fall  began  the  great  boom  at  Carbonate 
Camp  over  in  the  Iron  Hill  region.  The  usual  ex- 
travagant stories  of  fabulous  finds  began  to  circu- 
late; and,  in  the  usual  way,  men  believed  all  and 
hoped  more  than  they  heard.  Carbonate  at  once 
became  a  powerful  magnet. 

All  the  bonanza  claims  in  the  Bear  Gulch  region 
had  been  worked  out;  and  so,  the  town  that  had 
sprung  in  one  week  into  turbulent  life,  died  in  one 
week,  and  became  neither  more  nor  less  than  Baby- 
Ion  and  Nineveh.  No  more  forever  would  the 
glasses  tinkle  along  the  bar  of  the  King  Nugget. 
The  Bonanza  Dance  Hall  stared  blankly  upon  the 
silent  street,  with  windows  like  eyeless  sockets. 
Never  again  would  the  Deadwood  stage  thunder 
down  the  hill  in  a  cloud  of  sand.  And  the  last  hot 
biscuit  had  been  eaten  in  the  dining-room  of  the  Boss 
Eating  House.  The  ever  capricious  feet  of  the 
World  had  turned  away  from  Bear  Gulch. 

Along  "Main  Street"  where  once  the  eager  picks 
rose  and  fell,  where  the  sluices  gushed,  pans  clanked, 
shovels  rang,  the  ground  hogs  began  to  make  homes. 
They  and  one  man  possessed  the  town.     The  man 

267 


268  LIFE'S    LURE 

was  Drake.  Carbonate  had  no  attraction  for  him; 
he  was  no  longer  gold  mad.  There  being  nothing 
in  the  world  that  he  wished  to  have,  he  lingered  in 
the  dead  town — like  a  ghost. 

Very  little  sufficed  for  his  physical  needs;  and 
though,  during  those  latter  days,  he  had  gambled 
recklessly  and  without  luck,  he  still  had  enough  re- 
maining from  the  profits  of  the  King  Nugget  to  sup- 
ply him  for  some  time.  Occasionally  he  walked  to 
Deadwood  to  buy  grub. 

Winter  came,  and  the  graves  on  the  hillside  were 
covered  deep  with  snow.  It  was  in  vain  that  Drake 
shovelled  away  the  snow  from  one  of  them,  for  the 
winds,  sucking  up  the  gulch,  covered  it  deeper  than 
before.  And  the  snows  continued  until  Drake  was 
shut  in  by  his  fire,  alone  in  a  dead  town  with  memo- 
ries of  the  dead. 

With  the  deepening  of  winter  the  old  torture 
came  back.  He  often  heard  the  blue  fly  buzzing  on 
the  window-pane.  So  persistent  was  the  hallucina- 
tion that  he  resorted  to  the  expedient  of  getting 
drunk  early  in  the  morning.  The  King  Nugget  still 
had  a  small  supply  of  liquor  In  stock.  The  expedi- 
ent was  more  or  less  successful;  but  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  liquor,  a  new  sort  of  torture  developed 
— a  morbid  longing  for  a  sight  of  Devlin's  face  con- 
torted with  the  last  agony! 

Little  by  little  an  absurd  belief  fixed  itself  upon 
Drake.  He  came  to  think  of  Devlin  as  of  some- 
thing more  than  human — an  Infernal  and  invulner- 


LIFE'S   LURE  269 

able  being.  He  was  continually  haunted  with  a  sense 
of  impending  doom.  Often  as  he  sat  by  the  fire,  a 
gust  of  wind  made  him  start  and  stare  hard  at  the 
door,  expecting  it  to  open  and  reveal  the  face! 

Often  when,  finding  himself  unable  to  sleep,  he 
got  up,  dressed  and  went  out  into  the  night,  Devlin 
seemed  somehow  potential  in  the  starlight.  And 
often,  even  in  the  daylight,  he  would  wheel  about 
suddenly,  thinking  Devlin  behind  him. 

Oh,  the  strange,  alluring  beauty  of  that  pale  face ! 

Every  night  he  lay  down  with  the  same  thought : 
Another  day  has  passed  and  it  has  not  yet  hap- 
pened! It?  What?  More  and  more  as  the 
weeks  passed,  he  felt  the  coming  of  the  End. 

Spring  came;  the  snow  vanished  from  the  grave 
on  the  hillside,  and  Drake  spent  much  time  there 
turning  over  his  memories. 

One  night  in  May,  he  tossed  on  his  bed,  unable  to 
go  to  sleep;  for  always  when  he  fell  into  a  doze, 
some  devilish  sound  of  buzzing  awakened  him  with 
a  start.  So  at  last  he  got  up,  dressed,  and  strolled 
out  into  the  dark.  The  air  was  close  with  a  brood- 
ing thunderstorm,  and  vivid,  fitful  flashes  played 
above  the  soughing  pines. 

Drake  crossed  the  gulch  and  walked  aimlessly  up 
the  hill.  "What's  the  use?"  he  mused,  as  he 
walked.  "I  might  as  well  step  out  now — there  is 
nothing  left."  He  found  himself  at  the  grave  of 
his  wife.  His  feet  knew  the  way;  often  and  often 
his  aimless  wanderings  had  ended  there. 


270  LIFE'S    LURE 

He  stood  some  time  by  the  grave,  half-heartedly 
thinking  about  "stepping  out." 

Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  a  sound  of  breathing ! 
Was  it  the  wind?  He  held  his  breath  and  listened. 
It  was  breathing — something  that  breathed  was  just 
on  the  other  side  of  the  grave ! 

A  wild  thought  flashed  through  Drake's  mind:  Is 
it  Joy? 

He  peered  into  the  gloom,  deepened  by  the  ad- 
vancing storm-cloud.  Suddenly  a  violet  flash  of  light 
illumined  the  night,  and  for  one  tingling,  shuddering 
moment,  he  saw  the  face  of  Devlin  before  him! 

The  dark  swooped  back.  Drake  stood  motion- 
less.    Had  he  seen  it  or  only  imagined  it? 

A  voice  came  out  of  the  dark:  "I  have  come  back, 
Sam."     It  was  Louis'  voice! 

An  inexplicable  sense  of  fulfillment  came  over 
Drake — an  almost  exulting  sense  of  well-being  and 
success.  '^It  will  happen  now — it  will  happen 
now!''     The  words  ran  in  his  head. 

"My  God,  Sam!"  said  the  voice  again.  "Give 
me  a  chance  to  earn  forgiveness  somehow — IVe 
been  in  hell — I  couldn't  stay  away  any  longer " 

Drake  noted  with  a  thrill  that  all  the  sound  of 
mastery  had  gone  out  of  the  voice.  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  broken  spirit.  The  contemptuous  pity 
that  accompanies  a  consciousness  of  superiority 
seized  Drake. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  length;  "since  you  have  come — 
let  us  go  back  to  the  house." 


LIFE'S    LURE  271 

They  went  down  together.  Strangely  enough,  it 
seemed  to  Drake  quite  a  casual  affair  that  they 
should  be  together.  He  had  fancied  the  situation 
so  often.  So  often  had  Devlin  seemed  potential  in 
the  silence  about  him.  And  Dream  and  Reality  had 
become  curiously  mixed  in  the  long  silent  days  and 
nights  of  brooding. 

Drake  entered  the  house  and  lit  a  candle.  Then 
he  turned  and  saw  Devlin  standing  in  the  doorway. 
He  gasped  at  what  he  saw.  It  was  no  longer  the 
Louis  Devlin  of  Sidney.  This  Louis  was  old  and 
sloven.  His  eyes  were  dimmer  and  sunken.  His 
black  curls  had  been  cut  off.  He  was  old!  It 
seemed  that  the  ashes  of  some  infernal  fire  were  In 
his  face. 

'*I  am  changed — am  I  not?"  said  Devlin,  smiling 
grayly.  Only  in  the  haughty  lifting  of  the  chin 
could  the  old-time  Louis  be  seen  struggling  up  out 
of  the  man-wreck. 

Drake  stared  with  an  odd  mixture  of  exultation 
and  pity.  ^What  a  horrible  corpse  you  would 
make  nowT  he  thought.     "Sit  down,"  he  said. 

The  storm  broke  in  a  fury  of  wind  and  rain;  and 
the  two  sat  together  in  silence  until  the  dawn  came 
and  the  storm  died.  Then  Devlin  began  to  talk, 
his  face  resting  in  his  hands,  his  eyes  staring  at  the 
floor. 

"I  heard  a  story  when  I  was  a  boy — about  a  man 
who  was  walking  in  the  deep  woods  and  met  himself 
face  to  face — saw  himself — and  lost  his  grip  and 


272  LIFE'S    LURE 

died.  I  used  to  laugh  at  the  story — I  used  to  think 
it  very  funny." 

Drake  made  no  answer.  "How  will  it  hap- 
pen," he  was  saying  to  himself,  "now  that  he  has 
come?" 

"But  it  isn't  a  funny  story,"  Devlin  went  on;  "the 
supreme  tragedy  is  in  it.  My  God,  I  understand  it 
now!  SamF'  he  whispered,  raising  his  haggard 
eyes  upon  Drake,  ''/  know — Vve  seen  myself — ifs 
helir 

There  was  a  long  silence,  in  which  Drake's  brain 
toiled  feverishly  with  one  question:  "How  shall  I 
do  it  now  that  he  has  come?" 

"And  I've  lost  my  grip,"  continued  Devlin  monot- 
onously, staring  again  at  the  floor.  "After  seeing 
one's  self,  one  sees  nothing  else  forever!  I've  lost 
everything — money — skill — even  belief  in  myself — 
the  last  illusion.  And  I'm  afraid  to  die.  Sam! 
My  God!  You  were  my  friend  once,  and  I  loved 
you — I  love  you  now — though  I  betrayed  you.  A 
man  can  love,  even  though  he  is  too  weak  to  be 
true.  That's  why  I  can  tell  you — don't  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Drake,  feeling  a  devilish  exulta- 
tion. "Let  us  have  breakfast.  Likewise,  let  us  have 
some  liquor.  One  should  manage  to  avoid  sobriety! 
It's  a  precious  drunken  old  world  we  live  in — only 
the  sober  ones  suffer!     Don't  you  remember?" 

Devlin,  recognizing  the  quotation,  groaned  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  arms. 


LIFE'S    LURE  273 

The  whiskey  and  the  breakfast,  however,  aroused 
Devlin  into  a  bleak  travesty  of  his  old  self.  He  be- 
gan to  talk  about  a  placer  mine  he  had  discovered; 
and  the  more  he  drank  the  richer  the  discovery 
grew.     He  became  very  talkative  on  the  subject. 

"No  question  about  It,  my  friend,"  he  ran  on; 
**everythlng  points  to  a  rich  deposit.  IVe  been 
working  there  off  and  on  since  last  summer.  A 
man's  got  to  live " 

"Does  he?"  broke  In  Drake. 

"Yes,  he's  got  to  live  somehow,  and  my  luck's 
left  me.  Can't  false-shuffle  a  deck  now  to  save  my 
soul !  Better  go  in  with  me  on  the  deal,  Sam.  For- 
give and  forget — eh?  That's  It — forgive  and  for- 
get. Can't  afford  to  hold  grudges  in  this  world. 
Eh,  Sam?  And  most  of  the  hard  work's  done — 
all  you've  got  to  do  Is  to  go  In  with  me  for  a  month 
or  so  and  take  your  half.  I  won't  be  little  with  a 
friend — will  I?  Remember  Sidney — don't  you? 
Well,  I'm  the  same  old  Louis — always  ready  to  do 
you  a  good  turn.  Damn  funny,  isn't  it?  Seems 
like  there's  some  affinity  that  brought  us  together 
and  keeps  us  together — eh?  Shared  pretty  near 
everything — eh,  Sam?  Where'll  you  find  two  men 
that  have  shared  more — eh,  Sam?" 

It  was  the  first  time  Drake  had  seen  Devlin 
drunk.  He  stared  hard  at  the  centre  of  the  man's 
forehead,  wondering  how  a  bullet-hole  would  look 
at  that  particular  spot. 

"Oh,  there're  millions  in  that  mine,  Sam!    ^No 


274  LIFE'S    LURE 

doubt  of  it.  You  see,  IVe  run  a  drift  back  Into  the 
bank  and  sunk  a  shaft.  Shaft's  down  five  feet  al- 
ready. Getting  too  deep  for  one  man  to  handle. 
Seven  or  eight  feet  more,  and  we've  got  a  fortune 
apiece.  How  does  that  strike  you — eh?  I  won't 
expect  you  to  go  into  the  hole,  you  precious  aristo- 
crat! You  can  handle  the  windlass.  Everything's 
there  ready." 

A  triumphant  idea  flashed  through  Drake's 
mind — an  answer  to  his  oft-repeated  mental 
question. 

^'Consider  It  a  settled  matter,  Devlin,'*  he  said; 
"and  let  us  start  as  soon  as  possible." 

A  ghastly  joy  lit  up  the  haggard  features  of  Dev- 
lin. "That's  right!"  he  cried  drunkenly.  "We're 
not  sober  yet!  And  we're  two  jolly  good  friends, 
aren't  we?  Look  how  we've  shared!  Love  and 
Art  and  Virtue  and  Whiskey — they're  all  right  for 
the  ordinary!  But  Gold/  It's  the  supreme  drunk- 
enness!" 

"Why  don't  I  kill  him  now  and  be  through  with 
it  forever?"  thought  Drake  an  hour  later,  as  he 
stared  upon  Devlin,  snoring  In  drunken  sleep.  He 
took  his  gun  and  held  the  muzzle  to  the  man's  fore- 
head, and  wondered  why  he  didn't  do  It.  "Will  I 
ever  be  able  to  do  it?"  he  muttered.  Something 
restrained  him. 

The  next  day  the  two  started  for  the  placer  mine, 
Devlin  leading.     Few  words  were  spoken.     All  the 


LIFE'S    LURE  275 

while  Drake  stared  at  the  back  of  the  other's  head, 
wondering  how  a  bullet-hole  would  look  there.  And 
often  Devlin  stopped  and  looked  back  with  a  gray 
smile,  as  though  he  had  felt  the  thought. 

On  the  second  day  they  reached  the  diggings. 
Drake  found  it  very  much  as  Devlin  had  said.  He 
had  run  a  drift  back  into  a  bank  of  a  creek  some 
twenty  feet,  and  at  the  end  he  had  sunk  a  shaft. 
They  set  to  work. 

Day  after  day  the  work  continued,  with  very 
little  speech  between  the  men.  Joy  was  not  men- 
tioned. 

A  depth  of  fifteen  feet  was  attained  without  reach- 
ing bed  rock.  The  water  began  to  be  troublesome. 
They  were  forced  to  spend  half  the  time  dipping  it 
out.  At  twenty  feet,  the  flow  of  water  had  in- 
creased.    Still  they  dipped  and  dug. 

And  then,  one  day — it  happened! 

Devlin  was  in  the  shaft;  Drake  was  at  the  wind- 
lass and  was  hoisting  a  bucket  of  gravel,  when  the 
rope  broke.  The  heavy  bucket  crashed  back  into 
the  shaft. 

"Lucky  it  missed  me!"  cried  Devlin. 

Drake  stood  motionless,  his  hand  on  the  windlass 
crank.  With  the  breaking  of  the  rope,  it  seemed 
that  something  had  snapped  in  his  brain — something 
that  had  held  him  bound  for  so  many  days  and 
nights. 

"Let  down  the  rope,  Sam,"  said  Devlin,  "and  I'll 
tie  it  on  again." 


276  LIFE'S   LURE 

Drake  still  stood  motionless  with  his  hand  on  the 
windlass  crank.  For  some  time  neither  spoke.  And 
then 

"The  water  Is  to  my  knees/'  said  Devlin. 

Drake  locked  the  windlass  and  sat  down,  watching 
the  glow  of  the  other's  candle  that  shone  dimly  at 
the  mouth  of  the  shaft.  "It's  on  his  hat,"  thought 
Drake ;  "the  water  will  put  it  out." 

At  length  a  voice  came  up  the  shaft:  "Sam»" 

"What?"  replied  Drake. 

"Were  you  ever  at  Sidney?" 

"I  have  been  at  Sand  Creek,"  Drake  replied 
quietly. 

It  was  some  time  before  Devlin  spoke  again. 
"It's  above  my  waist." 

A  last,  lingering  spark  of  pity  glowed  in  Drake. 
He  reached  for  the  windlass  crank.  Something 
checked  him.  He  was  no  longer  doing  the  deed. 
It  was  as  though  the  hand  of  Fate  were  thrust 
through  the  darkness. 

At  length  Drake  heard  splashing,  and  then  the 
glow  in  the  shaft  disappeared.  The  splashing 
stopped,  but  a  sound  of  deep  breathing  filled  the 
place. 

Again  the  Shaft  spoke:  "My  fingers  are  giving 
out — have  you  no  pity?" 

"I  am  not  so  much  a  man  as  a  Force  of  Nature," 
quoted  Drake. 

For  some  time  there  was  only  the  heavy  breathing 
and  the  steady  drip-drop  of  the  incoming  water — 


LIFE'S    LURE  277 

like  blood.  Then  there  came  up  from  the  dark  hole 
a  wheezing,  ghostly  voice: 

''/  didn^t  mean  to  do  it — God  knows  I  didn^t — 
Sam — it  was  the  devil  of  gambling — hut  I'm  not 
begging  of,  I  always  paid — I  was  always  sport 
enough  to  pay.  You've  got  the  Royal  Flush — play 
it,  you  cuckold — cuck — cuck " 

It  ended  in  a  gurgle,  and  there  was  more  splash- 
ing for  a  while.  Drake  sat  there  until  the  faint 
trickle  of  the  incoming  water  was  the  only  sound. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


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Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


^ 


<5&Ssl 


JAM2  6  1956    nj 


24Jut'64HK 


4=JX 


jUL2TB*-fr^ 


LD  21-100m-2,'55 


General  Library 


|/V>-      YB  33528 


9S5268 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


